The Year of Neville
by RainCityWriter
Summary: This story is about what could have happened at Hogwarts during Neville's seventh year - Snape ends up quietly mentoring Neville as he tries to fight the Carrows while Snape is trying to spy on Voldemort and secretly protecting the students. Warnings: violence, caning and other corporal punishment, angst; see intro for more details. No slash.
1. Chapter 1 - The Harrowing Beginning

_AN: This story definitely needs some warnings. There will be violence, coarse language, deaths (though not a major character death), disciplinary caning, child abuse, and the use of unforgivables. You have been warned, if you are not okay reading about these things please read one of the fantastic stories on this sight that doesn't contain them. This story explores Neville's seventh year at Hogwarts where he leads the resistance against the Carrows, with the very quiet support and guidance of Headmaster Snape. I will strive to be as canon compliant as possible, I do not see this as AU but rather as what could have happened inside the structure of canon. This might be a two chapter one shot or it might turn into more, I'm not sure yet. Let me know what you think._

* * *

Severus Snape, reigning headmaster for the train wreck that Hogwarts had become, looked at the young man in front of him and sighed. Of course, it would be Neville Longbottom. He had hoped it would be one of those other bloody Gryffindors, but the fates always seemed to play their sick jokes on him. He knew he would have to protect, support and even perhaps surreptitiously mentor the leaders of the resistance, and he was waiting to see who would emerge. He couldn't believe it was Longbottom, but Longbottom it obviously was going to be. He had earned the ire of the Carrows, and had been uniting the resistance. Snape sighed, his life was never easy.

"I see, and why has this young Gryffindor been brought before me?" he asked, his voice silky and sardonic.

"Troublemaking," the male Carrow answered. Snape never differentiated based on their names, to do that would be to acknowledge that they had some human sentiment. They did not.

"I see," Snape answered. "And the standard punishments have proven not effective?"

"You said we had to start asking if we wanted to crucio a pureblood," he answered, his voice slightly whiney.

Snape inspected the young man, who had set his face to hide the fear he felt. He had been roughed up a bit - his uniform was tousled and he had a mark on his cheek rapidly darkening to a bruise.

"There will be no crucio for our Mr. Longbottom," Snape declared in a commanding voice. "His parents were driven insane by it, to which I assume there is a genetic weakness in them that was possibly inherited by their son. To crucio him would be to destroy him, and the Dark Lord would not be happy to give up such a valuable pawn as he is."

"Oh," the male Carrow answered, looking defeated. "Then just a good whipping, then?"

"I will administer Mr. Longbottom's punishment," Snape told the Carrow. "We do not want him permanently . . . damaged, though. I appreciate your . . . vigor in rooting out the troublemakers, Mr. Carrow but you may leave us now."

"Can't I watch?" Carrow asked, his lopsided grin communicating just how much he would enjoy that.

"Not today," Snape sighed. "I'm afraid that you are needed elsewhere. I believe that I heard rumors of some Ravenclaws planning a break for tonight, so it is up to you to make sure that doesn't happen."

"But I like to watch!" Carrow protested.

"Perhaps I like to be alone," Snape answered, his voice so silky he almost purred. "Now leave us."

Carrow obeyed, a little afraid of Snape, and left the boy alone with the headmaster. Neville stood there, frozen and defiant. Snape sighed again, did Gryffindors have no sense of self-preservation?

"Go ahead and do your worst," Neville told him, his eyes flashing.

"Tsk, tsk," Snape replied. "Never say that until you know what the worst is."

"You have wanted to all along," Neville challenged. "It must be great now to know that with Dumbledore gone you can do anything you want to me."

"Shut your foolish mouth, child," Snape told him with icy assurance. "You are simply making it worse on yourself."

"Worse?" Neville laughed in spite of himself. "How could this possibly get worse?"

"You have no idea, do you?" Snape asked him harshly. "What do you think happens in this place when you are either deemed as too much hassle or no longer of value?"

Neville faltered a bit, and then rallied. "I will not submit," he told Snape firmly.

"But what about those mudbloods you're protecting?" Snape pressed. "What about the ones that have no powerful or influential families to make sure they don't get the crucio? Are you ready to defy me and risk them? Are you sure I wouldn't fetch a few innocent first years and torture them in front of you?"

Snape saw Neville falter, and realized that he was getting through. The boy had to understand the reality of the situation.

"I am going to cane you, Mr. Longbottom," he told him carefully, and let that statement hang in the air.

Neville paled, but nodded. He knew it would be something like this, and at least this sounded better than some of the things the Carrows did. And at least it was him, and not bringing in any of the younger kids.

"Bend over the desk," Snape ordered him in a voice that brooked no opposition. "You will hold position and not rise until I tell you to or you will find yourself in a body-bind."

"Yes, sir," Neville answered, becoming even more pale. He approached the desk with dismay, and gulped in fear. How bad was this going to be?

Snape flicked his wand, clearing off his desk and gesturing for Neville to bend over. Neville did, resting his palms on the desk. Snape, in an official and business-like way quickly fetched the cane from the cupboard in the corner of his office. The official Hogwarts cane was something of an artifact for the school, but had hardly been used during Dumbledore's tenure. Snape had felt the cane himself a few times, he remembered with chagrin. And now he had to do this violence to Neville.

Snape really had no choice. If he did not punish the boy physically the Carrows would notice, and it would look badly for him with Voldemort. It was likely they would check Neville for marks or check his mind to see what happened. It was not worth his position as spy and protector of children at Hogwarts to save the boy's backside. And there was also a sense of wartime justice - if the boy was going to be in this fight, he had to know the stakes. And he had to learn to be more careful, and if a few stripes helped him with that, then that was pain well spent. And a caning never killed anybody, it just hurt like hell. With younger kids he was often able to spell the marks on the child and confound them enough so they were not prey to legilimency, but Neville was too old for that. Snape would actually have to do it.

Neville trembled slightly as he bent over, trying not to show his fear. In some ways this cold, calculated punishment was by far worse than the angry, passionate Carrows. He could often bluster his way through with the Carrows, but Snape was making him feel his fear.

"Why are you receiving this caning, Mr. Longbottom?"

"For being too valuable to crucio," he answered flippantly. Snape gave an involuntary snort of laughter at that, but quickly schooled his face against frivolity.

"You are quite the comedian for someone in your position," Snape told him severely. "Now, why are you receiving this caning?"

"Because I blocked a spell and shielded a first year from one of the Carrows," Neville admitted heavily.

"That is considered insubordination and troublemaking in this current situation," Snape explained. "You are not allowed to block spells from an adult at Hogwarts. What could you have done differently?"

"Nothing, sir," Neville answered honestly. "I'm not going to say that I would step aside and let some poor Hufflepuff firsties get hit by whatever curse the Carrows want to try out today."

"You must be politic, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him, hoping he understood what he meant. "Did your sacrifice help the first year students?"

"No," Neville admitted. "They took my wand and then cursed them in front of me, probably worse."

"And you are now facing the cane for your disobedience," Snape told him. "I want you to consider what you could have done instead."

"Nothing, it's what needed to happen," Neville replied firmly. "If you're going to cane me, then get on with it!"

"In good time," Snape replied softly. "Merlin save me from heroic Gryffindors. I expect an essay tomorrow morning of at least ten different things you could have done differently to help those firsties."

"I don't know any!" Neville answered, somewhere between a whine and a complaint.

"How about distraction? Creating a disturbance? Caring for them afterwards? Calling for help?" Snape snapped at him. "Merlin's beard, you're not a first year anymore, Longbottom! Use your head!"

"Yes, sir," Neville replied stoically. "But there is no help any longer at Hogwarts."

"And that belief might be your worst mistake," Snape answered heavily. "Now prepare yourself for your punishment, Longbottom. Six of the best."

Snape lifted the back of Neville's robes, exposing his trouser-clad backside. Commenting no further, he brought the cane against that backside and took aim. The first blow fell smartly, eliciting a yelp from the target.

"One, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him. "Keep position."

Neville obeyed, and the second stripe made his leg kick involuntarily. Snape counted the stroke for him, and then landed the third. Tears were coursing down the young man's face by this point, but he did not beg. Snape felt the prickling of guilt around the edges of his brain for caning an entirely innocent and noble student, but he pushed that harshly away. This was war, and it did not matter if Neville was innocent and noble. He needed to harden and grow up.

"Five," Snape counted as the next one fell, and Neville's cries had turned more desperate. Snape ruthlessly ignored the pity being conjured in his heart and ended with one last stripe across the upper thighs.

"Six," he announced dispassionately. "Your punishment is complete, Mr. Longbottom."

Snape handed Neville a tissue as he shamefacedly tried to stop that embarrassing hitching in his breathing.

"There's no shame in it," Snape told him calmly. "It's quite a painful punishment. Intended to make its target think twice about his actions."

"Yes, sir," Neville agreed, blowing his nose. "Have you had it before, sir?"

Neville didn't know what could have prompted him to ask the headmaster a question like that, and for a moment the room froze with the audacity of his question. Neville blushed, and half expected himself over that desk for another six. What was he thinking?

"Indeed, Mr. Longbottom, I have," Snape answered after a moment of consideration. "Though I do not know why I would tell you this. But yes, when I was a student the cane was far more commonly applied."

"What did you do, sir?"

"That is definitely none of your business," Snape told the boy, eyeing him carefully, but with no malice. "But I will warn you that I think you will be in my office and bent over that desk again if you do not find a way to not attract attention to yourself. I do not think I have to warn you that the cane will be my most likely means of correcting you."

"I understand, sir," Neville answered sadly. "I just don't know what kind of world we are in."

"It is the kind of world where the strong survive," Snape told him harshly. "If you are to survive you must remain strong. And your strength will be needed."

"Will it?" Neville asked, his voice keening a little. "How could one person, especially one like me, make that much of a difference?"

"That remains to be seen," Snape told him, his expression unreadable. In truth, he felt sympathy for the boy, he was in a hard place that was getting harder by the day. "But I am hoping that one person can make a difference. Perhaps even a large one."

Snape caught himself, and didn't say anything further. He had to have plausible deniability if anybody ever extracted memories from Longbottom and gave them to Voldemort. He had to be careful. This relationship he was going to have to form with Neville Bloody Longbottom was going to have to be very careful.


	2. Chapter 2 - Training Begins

_AN: Thank you for all of your feedback, I really appreciate it. This will likely be a shorter fic (under 10 chapters) but I'm encouraged to explore this world a little more. This is a very dark time in Hogwart's history, but I believe it very interesting to explore how Snape and Neville could have coped with it. I do not anticipate extreme and gratuitous violence, and I intend to focus on their relationship growing. I intend to only rarely even venture out of Snape's office. That being said, please take the warnings seriously._

* * *

Snape chided himself and had to remind himself to be more careful with the boy. It would do him no good to have Longbottom figure out that he wasn't really as evil as he portrayed and then let that fact either slip to his friends or come out as the Dark Lord rifled through his mind. No, he would have to tread very carefully here. But how could he help the boy without blowing his cover? How could he train him?

As soon as the boy left his office, Snape sent for a house elf to anonymously deliver the potions that would make it so he could sit comfortably in class the next day. Severus remembered the agony of sitting in class on a freshly caned backside, and he had no wish to inflict that on the boy. Hopefully the Carrows would assume it was another case of the house elves spoiling the students, which they were always likely to do. And perhaps their interest would be diverted by then anyway.

The next day Snape watched Neville carefully at breakfast, saw his furtive looks at his compatriots and his sneaking of food out of the dining hall, for whom Snape could only assume were students hiding from the Carrows. Sighing, he realized that he had his work cut out for him, so to speak.

After breakfast, Snape rose with the unhurried aplomb he had cultivated over the years, and glided over to Neville's seat. He saw the Gryffindors, now somewhat reduced in number, getting more and more nervous as he approached, and as he settled behind Neville some of his classmates looked ready to faint in fear.

"Do you have the essay that I requested completed, Mr. Longbottom?" he asked in his patient but still mildly threatening voice.

"Yes, sir," Neville gulped, scrambling to get it. "It's just here."

"I will see if this is equal to your abysmal potions work," he said, scanning the parchment. "I see you have not improved."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"You will have detention with me at seven this evening, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him smoothly. "Make sure you bring your wand." Snape intended to assign detention no matter the quality of Neville's work because he wanted to start his training, but this was truly abysmal work. Did the boy never think?

"Yes, sir," Neville replied neutrally, not raising his gaze to meet the headmaster's.

"And I believe you young Gryffindors have class," he told them, solidly playing into the pretense that Hogwarts was continuing as normal. "I would hate for any of you to be late."

"Yes, sir," they all mumbled in fear and packed up their things to go.

As he watched the young Gryffindors go, he reflected on what it had cost him to do what Dumbledore had asked him to do. His killing Dumbledore and then returning as Hogwart's headmaster and loyal to the Dark Lord had been difficult, but this living as if he were what he pretended was excruciating. It's not that he didn't mind making the Gryffindors scatter at the sight of him, but the reproachful looks from McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were more than he could bear sometimes. And now he found this silly, quivering Gryffindor who had held the record for melting the most cauldrons in potions was even more afraid of him. Not afraid of him as he was in his first years, but actually afraid that he was evil and might kill innocent students. He was not sure why this was so difficult for him to bear, but the downward look and show of subservience on Neville's face felt to be his undoing. Not for the first time, their son made him think of Alice and Frank. They had been so full of life, so full of hope in bringing about the Dark Lord's downfall . . .

"I'm here for my detention, headmaster," he heard Neville say quietly, causing Snape to look at the clock in his office. Indeed, it was seven in the evening, and he had worked through dinner. Again. Sighing, he knew he could get a house-elf to bring him up something later. He had to eat to keep up his strength, despite his having no desire to do so.

"Your essay was abysmal," Snape told Neville severely. "So you are here for punishment."

"Yes, sir," Neville answered, his eyes flicking to the desk he had bent over. "I guess it's the same as last time, then?"

"That will be your punishment when the Carrows bring you to me," Snape told him smoothly. "So if you wish to avoid the cane, avoid the Carrows. You will have a different punishment when I deem that you need it."

Neville seemed to freeze at this new information, his eyes filling with fear. He continued to look down, though he stole furtive glances at the headmaster to see what he would do. Without flourish, Snape pulled out his wand and pointed it at the now trembling teenager. Snape had to use firm occlumency at this further proof that the Carrows had been cursing students, and probably with the cruciatus.

"Are you familiar with the stinging curse?" he asked Neville with his softly threatening voice.

"Yes, sir," Neville answered, licking his lips. He appeared to be bracing himself, but with some relief. The stinging curse was not as bad as the cruciatus by far.

"Did you bring your wand?" Snape asked him in that same voice.

"I did," Neville answered, confused. "Um, did you want me to, um . . ."

"I want you to defend yourself," Snape told him. "See if you can block my spell."

Neville, looking even more confused, attempted a shielding spell as Snape sent the stinging hex directly at him. Neville blocked most of it, though a bit caught his right leg.

"Ouch!" he protested, rubbing the spot.

"Again, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him, shooting another hex this time without waiting for Neville's shield first. Neville managed to block that one, but the next one caught him on the hand smartly.

"Ouch!" Neville complained again, but this time didn't drop his wand and warily watched Snape as the man circled him.

"Now tell me ten ways to protect a helpless ally," Snape insisted, sending another hex that was blocked.

"Sir?"

"Ten ways, Longbottom. And you had better do better than that abysmal essay."

"Distraction," Neville answered, looking flustered.

Snape sent another hex to the boy, grimacing as it met its mark and elicited a yelp. Could the boy not block decently? Snape was careful to send a mild hex, he didn't want to cripple the lad.

"How?"

"Creating a diversion," Neville answered. "Get their attention focused elsewhere."

"Good," Snape told him. "What else?"

"Get the attention on me," Neville answered. "Let them get away."

"Good," Snape told him. "Though it might be hard on you." As if to emphasize, he sent a harsh hex towards Neville's backside, which Neville was able to block barely.

"Look for help," Neville panted, feeling the strain of blocking. "Though that's pretty scarce here."

"Good," Snape told him. "What else?"

"Keep them out of the areas the Carrows go to begin with," Neville told him. "Pre-empt the problem."

"Excellent," Snape answered, moving his feet. "Keep your feet moving, Mr. Longbottom."

"Yes, sir," Neville answered, trying to imitate how Snape moved. "Um, a shielding charm."

"That's what you did before and what you're trying to improve upon," Snape told him, sending a harsher hex his way that caught him partially on the arm.

"Right," Neville grimaced. "I don't really know, sir."

"How about getting the vulnerably ally behind you?" Snape suggested, circling the boy. "Or perhaps teaching them a few defensive spells? How about placating your enemy, appearing helpless and innocent yourself and flattering their superiority? What about telling them what they want to hear?"

"I couldn't do that, sir," Neville gasped. "That would be . . . "

"Slytherin?" Snape asked with sarcasm.

Neville flushed, and nodded despite himself.

"There is a muggle saying, Mr. Longbottom, that discretion is the better part of valor," Snape told him, realizing he was very close to treason. "Being brave is not equal to being foolish. You will do nobody any good if you are killed over something foolish before you can do some good in the world."

"Are you . . . _helping_ me headmaster?" Neville asked, confused.

"Of course not," Snape snapped. "How dare you suggest that? I am trying to keep the peace at the school and teach you to use your head. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Neville answered, not convinced.

"And I must always be constantly vigilant because whatever is in anybody's head is immediately subject to invasion," Snape continued. "Though the Carrows are clumsy at best with legilimency. Not many are as skilled at occlumency as I am, but the Dark Lord is."

Neville looked at the headmaster, and then seemed to understand something. "I'm sorry for my misbehavior, headmaster."

"As you should be," Snape told him. "But I think your punishment is concluded for now."

"Thank you, headmaster," Neville answered, rubbing a spot where a particularly painful hex had landed.

"I can see that you are a troublemaker, Longbottom," Snape told him. "I think you should not make too many plans for evenings, because I have a feeling you will be in detentions with me for quite a few of them."

"Yes, sir," Neville told him. "I hope to live up to your expectations."

"I as well," Snape answered. "You are dismissed."


	3. Chapter 3 - Chivalry

Snape had thought he would have to manufacture excuses to get alone with Longbottom, but he found the youngster in his office that night; this time with Ginny Weasley. Both Carrows had dragged the defiant teens up to the headmaster's office. Through the amplification spells he had placed outside of his office, he heard Neville begging to be punished in any other way than by the headmaster, and Snape allowed himself a small smile at his subterfuge. He wasn't sure how much the boy understood at this point, but at least he understood the principle of making the Carrows think he hated and feared the headmaster. And with Neville's history with Snape it shouldn't be too much of a leap to convince them.

"What have we here?" he asked smoothly as they entered his office. He grimaced a bit at seeing the Weasley girl. Caning boys was bad enough, but he really hated using the cane on the girls and tried to avoid it at all costs. He supposed it was some misplaced feelings of chivalry, or perhaps it was that the Weasley girl was a redhead - she looked too much like Lily. But he couldn't avoid it at the cost of his cover - and so he was forced to do it.

"This isn't fair!" the Weasley girl protested as the Carrows dragged her into the office. "We weren't doing anything wrong!"

"I believe that is for me to decide," Snape told her smoothly. He examined the girl for a moment, noting her flushed skin and askew hair. He had actually suspected that she would come forth as one of the leaders of the resistance, but he knew better than to single her out at all. Her known relationship with Potter did that already, so she was not the ideal person to help.

"Caught them sneakin' food," the male Carrow announced. "Probably for those annoying mudbloods."

"Indeed," Snape intoned. "Serious charges indeed. And what did I promise you, Mr. Longbottom, should you be brought to me again on such a matter?"

"The cane," Neville replied, shamefaced.

"Indeed," Snape agreed. "And Miss Weasley as well?"

Snape saw both teenagers pale despite the joking and jostling by the Carrows.

"Give hers to me," Neville burst out.

"What was that, Mr. Longbottom?"

"Give me her punishment," Neville argued. "Please, sir. Let me take hers."

Snape seemed to consider, but in reality he was quite relieved. Neville had given him the perfect out. And now he was going to have to inflict a painful and embarrassing punishment upon him for his chivalry.

"We're watching this time," the female Carrow insisted. "You owe us that at least, headmaster."

"I owe you nothing," Snape growled. Reluctantly, however, he made the decision that he knew he had to make to make him look the best to those revolting Carrows. He would have to be ruthless. "But I see no reason for you not to stay if you wish. I believe it might do Miss Weasley some good to see what her hero is sacrificing for her."

"NO!" the foolish girl protested. "Please, sir, I can take my own punishment."

"No, I believe it has been decided," Snape told her icily. "Any further protest from you worsens the count for your saviour. Perhaps a stroke a word?"

Ginny closed her mouth, looking at Neville with a mixture of hero-worship, incredulity and sympathy. Neville seemed trying to find his courage.

"I believe you know the procedure," Snape told him with sarcasm, summoning the dreaded cane from the cupboard. Neville paled to see it, but with a glance at the Carrows and at Ginny he silently made his way to the desk. Moving a few objects, Neville bent himself over.

Snape watched the boy, and couldn't help but admire his courage. For years he had thought the boy mis-sorted, he seemed far more Hufflepuff than Gryffindor. But how he took the punishment for the girl, and how he now accepted that punishment without a protest made Snape re-think his position. This was a very particular form of raw courage, and Snape had rarely seen it so clearly.

"Six of the best, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him. "And you and Miss Weasley will learn not to get caught misbehaving."

"Only six?" the female Carrow asked.

"You should sample a cane wielded by me before you think the punishment insufficient," Snape told her sarcastically. "With how I wield it, six is sufficient."

The female Carrow laughed at the suggestion, though she also looked at Snape speculatively. She always suspected he was softer than he let on.

"Brace yourself, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him, touching the boy's backside with the cane in order to take aim.

Snape caned the boy with a heavy hand. Nothing less would satisfy the Carrows, he knew. He knew many tricks to fool them on his treatment of children, including charming the cane to deliver softer blows, but with the boy's ridiculous bravado he would likely not cry at that; and Snape needed him to cry. He needed him to cry and to beg so the Carrows thought him heartless and ruthless. Reminding himself that a caning never killed anyone whereas his subterfuge failing could, Snape ended the caning with a particularly painful stroke across Neville's upper thighs.

Neville sobbed on the desk, no longer caring if anybody saw him cry. His desperate sobbing at the end nearly caused Snape to falter, but he hardened his heart to it. This brave and noble boy had to learn how to fight in this war, and if a sore backside did it than that is what it would take.

Snape looked up to see the Weasley girl sobbing as well, though she had taken him seriously and not uttered another word.

"That was Miss Weasley's punishment," Snape told Neville. "Stay on the desk for yours."

"How many more are you going to give him?" the male Carrow asked eagerly.

"Not for you to find out," Snape told him. "Take Miss Weasley back to her dorm room. I wish to be alone for the rest of Mr. Longbottom's punishment."

"But we want to watch . . . " the female one protested.

"Indeed," Snape acknowledged. "But I . . . enjoy it more without anybody else here interrupting. You've had your fun, now take the girl back."

"Yes, sir," they both mumbled, jerking the girl's arm.

"You are both so brutish," Snape scolded them. "Don't you see that any punishment you give the girl will lessen her guilt at this boy being caned for her? The cruelest thing to do would be to take her back completely unharmed, that she may stew in it."

"Yes, sir," they answered, this time with a glint in their eyes.

Snape waited until they had bundled the girl out of the room and likely a long way down the hallway before he spoke again. "I expect your punishments to make you better at not getting caught, Mr. Longbottom, not worse."

"Yes, sir," the boy replied, trying to control his sobs. "I was t-t-trying to f-f-feed kids."

"I know," Snape answered him, his voice silky. "Was it worth the pain?"

"Yes," Neville answered honestly.

"Tsk, tsk," Snape told him gently. "I see you did not remember your lessons from yesterday."

"Yesterday?" he asked, not remembering.

"Perhaps you need a reminder," Snape told him. "Do you have your wand?"

"Yes," Neville replied, pushing himself off the desk in confusion. "Aren't you going to, well . . ."

"You already received your caning for getting caught by the Carrows, as promised," Snape told him. "That was Miss Weasley's punishment. This is yours. En Garde, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville pulled out his wand, and winced as he moved his feet. Snape hardened his heart against sympathy for the boy, in battle he would have to fight with much more distraction and pain than a striped bum. This was training.

"Foolish boy," he growled at the boy. "Getting caught over that."

"I'm, I'm sorry sir," Neville answered, nervously watching Snape circle him. Snape let off a warning stinging hex, which Neville smartly blocked.

"You seem to be blocking better," Snape told him.

"I had Ginny show me a few things," Neville answered. "She's better than I am at this stuff."

"You assumed you would be back here," Snape observed.

"You had told me I would be," Neville replied, mostly being able to block another stinging hex, but the corner of it catching his wrist painfully.

"Indeed," Snape responded.

"Why?" Neville suddenly asked.

Snape knew exactly what he meant, and he knew this was the part where he had to plant suspicion. If he didn't, then both he and Neville would be vulnerable. He supposed it was natural because he was not actively terrorizing the boy, and the child would want to have some semblance of safety in the horror show that his world was becoming. But Snape could not be that safety, for both their sakes.

"Why what?" he asked.

"Why are you being kind to me?" Neville asked.

"I do not believe the Carrows thought I was kind," Snape told him, arching an eyebrow. "Is it not my handiwork on your bum for the second time this week?"

"Yes," Neville blushed, blocking another spell better this time. "That did hurt, both times. But you are being, well, decent about it. The Carrows wanted much worse."

"Perhaps, Mr. Longbottom, I am softening you up in order to ascertain information about the resistance you're leading."

"Would you do that?" he asked, horrified.

"Do you know how much you just admitted to in that sentence?" Snape growled, sending a harsher hex to the boy. Neville managed to block it fully, to both of their surprise. "Think, boy. Always remember who I am."

"Yes, sir."

"I am the headmaster appointed personally by the Dark Lord. I am the slayer of Dumbledore and the abuser of Hogwarts students, including yourself. Never forget that." Snape had a note of sadness in his voice as he informed the Longbottom boy of exactly who he was, as if he wished it could be different. But they both had a role to play.

"Yes, sir," Neville replied carefully.

"And don't let your guard down," Snape barked at him, sending a stinging hex towards his calf that Neville only half-blocked. If it had been to his backside Neville couldn't have blocked it at all, but even Snape couldn't be that cruel. The poor boy's backside had to be throbbing.

"Ow!" he jumped. Then, with embarrassment, "Sorry, sir."

"Your punishment for tonight is complete," Snape told the boy, sheathing his wand.

"Yes, thank you, sir," Neville told him, sheathing his wand as well. He longed for his bed, to rub some of that salve that the house elves had snuck him on his welted bottom and maybe even convince Ginny not to kill him for doing what she would call, "That bloody chivalry thing." He had known he was in for the cane anyway, and he had hoped that Professor Snape would be easier on him than he would Ginny. He was still confused, was the Headmaster as evil as he insisted? Neville had had seven years of experience to fear and loathe the man, but this year when he was obvious about his betrayal and evil tendencies Neville had nagging doubts.

"Well, go on then," Snape told him. "Don't stand around gawping at me until I punish you again."

"Yes, sir," Neville replied, snapping out of his ruminations and scrambling to the door. Then, just before he slipped through the door, he said very quietly, "Good night, sir."

Snape did not respond to the greeting, but instead shook his head. That boy was all nobility and no cunning, something Snape was sure he was going to have to beat into the lad.


	4. Chapter 4 - A Visit

It was the week before Christmas, and Snape was in the midst of training with Neville. He had purposely left the sword out, and wondered how long it would take the boy to notice. The original was of course already taken to Potter, but he wanted to train Neville with it as well. Snape knew the implications of this sword, and he figured the more the Gryffindors knew about it the better. But the boy seemed a bit off today. Severus tried not to care at why he seemed different, but he knew something was different and that bothered him.

Snape felt a bit off as well that day. He had happened upon a first year being actively hexed by the female Carrow that morning at breakfast, and it had turned his stomach. Of course the stinging hex she had been using was the same one he was now blasting into Neville's shields, but the fear in the girl's eyes had cut him to the quick. He had of course lied smoothly, removed the girl from the situation and set up the scene that everyone thought he had disciplined her, but still the situation rankled. He had seen Poppy's cold set of her jaw when he took her to her afterwards, and he knew that Poppy thought he had inflicted all of the damage on the girl's hide. Of course he let her believe that, it solidified his reputation. Snape knew very well the limits of his power, and he knew he could not protect every first year from every bump and bruise. But surely there had to be something else . . .

For the first time in weeks, a stinging hex got through Neville's shields. Snape had long ago given up pulling his punches, and the stinging hex hit Neville's thigh harshly.

"Ouch!" Neville yelled, grasping his thigh.

Snape's instinct was to let the boy recover from the blow, but he knew that was foolish. He had to capitalize on the opportunity. He sent another hex, equally harsh, to the other leg. Neville, beginning to have the instincts that Snape had tried to drum into him, managed to shield that hex. Snape almost allowed himself a smile in pride at the boy, he had improved rapidly.

"You need to stop earning detentions from me," Snape told him sarcastically. "But at least your behavior seems to not be earning quite the ire from the Carrows recently."

"I've tried to obey you, headmaster," Neville told him politely. "And you have certainly provided me with enough incentives to avoid them."

"I told Dumbledore that the warm and fuzzy approach was not always the most effective," Snape told him, assessing. "You do have a new gouge on your cheek."

"Apparently I am not very good in muggle studies," Neville admitted, looking away.

"School your emotions!" Snape snapped at the boy. "You know better."

"I do," Neville admitted. "I'm sorry, professor."

"Do you notice anything different in this room, Longbottom?" he drawled expectedly.

"I, I saw the sword," Neville commented. "I thought it might be rude to comment."

"Finally, he learns discretion," Snape snapped. "What did you observe about the weapon?"

"It's large, with jewels on it," Neville told him.

"Go and heft it," Snape told him.

Neville obeyed, walking over to the sword and lifting it off of the table it rested upon. "Heavy," Neville commented.

"It is, of course, a copy," Snape told him, watching the boy with it. "It is a copy of the sword of Gryffindor, the whereabouts right now is unknown. I show you this to keep you alert. If you find this sword in the school, then give it to me and you will be rewarded. The Dark Lord fears this sword because it can harm things precious to him."

"Can't a sword harm most things?" Neville asked, incredulously.

"This can harm things that cannot be harmed otherwise," Snape told him. "So if you would like to get into the Dark Lord's good graces, you will bring this to me should you find it."

"I will keep an eye out for it, sir," Neville answered in the manner they had adopted to communicate. Neville still wasn't sure about Snape's loyalties, but he had found that issues he raised with the headmaster were often quietly addressed, bruise balm and pain draughts delivered. And though the headmaster had been true to his word to giving him a caning whenever the Carrows caught him, Neville had developed strategies that had made that a more rare occurrence.

"Now, perhaps it is time to end your detention . . ."

"I have a question, sir," Neville asked nervously.

"Yes?" Snape asked, but inside he felt his nervousness rise. There were a whole host of questions he did not want to field with this boy.

"Where is Nina Smith?"

Like that one. "Is she missing?"

"She is," Neville told him. "Her father is a muggle, sir, so she's on the Carrow's torture list. She's a second year Hufflepuff, and the Carrows have caught her twice this month. They caught her again yesterday and nobody has seen her since."

"I do not know where she is," Snape lied smoothly. "Perhaps she was sent home."

"Perhaps," Neville wanted to agree. Snape could see him wish it, but he that wasn't the case. "But sir, her things were not removed from her room. Her dorm mates say that all of her things are still there."

"I see," Snape answered. He saw the earnest face of the boy asking him, and he wanted to do anything but answer truthfully. He could barely stand the truth himself, how could he inflict it on this boy? Though part of him wanted to use it as another method to toughen the young Gryffindor, he found himself unable to do so.

"Perhaps she was whisked away to safety without her belongings," Snape answered. "I do not know."

Suddenly, Snape's body went rigid and he looked around in sudden fear. He felt the Dark Lord approaching, and he had under five seconds to ready himself. He quickly banished the sword, and looked at Neville dead in the eye.

"Don't draw your wand or cast a shield," he told the boy harshly, and then let off a harsh stinging hex at his face. Neville fell, crying out in pain as the Dark Lord apparated.

"My Lord," Snape bowed his head in submissiveness, ignoring Neville's cries. "What an unexpected pleasure."

"I see I have interrupted your work," Voldemort observed, a menacing hiss in his voice. "You know how much I value your work, Severus."

"I am gratified, Milord," Snape told him with another nod. "I am just finished with this student's detention, so I will send him away and then you will have my full attention."

"Thank you, Severus," Voldemort nodded.

Snape kicked a bit at Neville, and ordered, "Get up, boy. Now I trust you remember your lesson?"

"Yes, sir," Neville replied, ducking his swollen face.

"You will go straight to bed, no seeing Madame Pomfrey," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," Neville agreed, practically sprinting to the door.

If Snape were not a master of occlumency, he would have breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind Neville without the Dark Lord asking about him. Snape wasn't sure what Voldemort would consider fun to do to the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, but it would not be to give him ice cream.

"I have some disturbing reports about Hogwarts," the Dark Lord sighed. "And I thought to bring them straight to you, Severus. Do you know what they are?"

"No idea," Snape replied, fully composed.

"I have reports of students running amuck," Voldemort told him. "Of students mounting a rebellion, of the students actually _organizing_ to fight back."

"And who sent you these reports?" Snape scoffed. "They are people looking to make trouble for me."

"Are the reports false, Severus?"

"They are," Snape replied with confidence. "It is possible that a few of the younger students think to rebel, but I have quite squashed it from the older ones."

"Yes, I hear about your methods," Voldemort chuckled. "Have you actually brought back the cane in lieu of the cruciatus?"

"I felt it unworthy to crucio a pureblood," Snape explained. "I know you wanted hostages, and they rather lose their value when they are dead or permanently disabled. The cane causes no permanent damage, but does serve as an effective deterrent."

"Nevertheless, I want these students cowed properly," Voldemort told him, drawing close to Snape. "They will live in fear so their families submit. Am I clear?"

"Of course, Milord," Snape answered.

" _Legilimens_ ," Voldemort cast, his wand pointed directly at Snape.

Snape had been expecting this intrusion, and had set up the trap for him already. He had many scenes Voldemort would approve of easily accessed, and a few darker memories buried a little lower to make Voldemort think he had dug them up. Disposing of the girl's body was one of those.

"Enough!' Snape begged, sounding desperate. "Please, Milord!"

"Your work pleases me," Voldemort said, withdrawing slowly. "I see you take pleasure in your work."

"Most of it, sir."

"It must have done you good to cane that Weasley blood traitor," Voldemort purred, recalling the memory of that. "Wasn't she Potter's?"

"Teenage romances shift so often, Milord," Snape replied. "One can never really tell. But she was . . . enjoyable. She had spirit."

"Then Crucio her next time!" the Dark Lord hissed. "I will not have this place turning into a muggle boarding school."

"Yes, Milord," Snape answered. "Then it is your intention to begin turning on the purebloods?"

"Maybe not," Voldemort considered.

"Milord, you saw the memory of the girl that had been crucio'd too much," Snape told him. "You will lose the only thing making some of these families submit if we are too harsh."

"Do you think so?"

"I do," Snape told him. "Please believe in my ability to terrify the student body without actually killing them. Fear is far more effective than brute force, Milord, as you've demonstrated."

"Some of the parents are becoming difficult," Voldemort admitted. "We may need to take drastic actions with some of them or their children."

"I'm sure you will know best what to do, Milord," Snape answered him.

"You know, for punishments you could use blood quills," Voldemort considered. "Less muggle."

"Excellent idea," Snape replied. "I shall order some tonight. But I did want to tell you that I had a particular . . . affinity for the cane."

"You can use that too as needed," Voldemort waved his hand. "Whatever makes you happy."

"It makes me happy to serve you, Milord."

"I still think you are too calculated," Voldemort told Snape. "Don't you ever just want to let loose with passion and kill? Rather than all this calculated playing around?"

"Of course," Snape answered. "But I also know what is going to get you power, sir, and I believe the long game is important."

"You're right, of course, Severus," Voldemort told him. "And you will share that glory when we enter it. Now, do you have the sword of Gryffindor yet?"

"The search continues, Milord," Snape told him. "Hogwarts isn't working for me properly, yet. I need more time."

"We need that," Voldemort insisted.

"Surely one thing of metal cannot harm you," Snape told him.

"You would think not," Voldemort told him. "But I did not get where I am today by not looking at all the angles. Do you have my potions?"

"Yes, right here, sir," Snape handed him a small case full of vials of different colors. "Everything you need."

"Thank you, Severus," Voldemort nodded, then apparated.

Snape reached for a drink of firewhiskey, knowing he would order a hot bath that evening. That man made his skin crawl.


	5. Chapter 5 - Egg Nog

"Where is she?" Neville demanded, his wand drawn.

Snape, taken aback at the sudden intrusion, kept his wand within easy grasp and surveyed the youngster. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and even now his breathing rasped in his chest. Something terrible had happened, and probably on the train home for the child to return to Hogwarts so quickly to seek him out. There were no students left at Hogwarts this holiday.

"To whom are you referring?" Snape asked with perfect diction.

"Luna!" Neville thundered. "They took Luna from the train when we were all headed home for Christmas. They put Ginny and me in a body bind."

Resisting the desire to correct the boy's speech, Snape observed him closely. "Put that away," Snape commanded him crisply. "You are not going to use it on me."

"Why not?" Neville demanded. "How do I know that during one of our detentions you didn't glean some sort of information that got her taken?"

"I refuse to speak to you until you lower your wand," Snape told him, arching an eyebrow. Snape was unafraid, he would be able to protect himself if the boy really did try and hex him. Even if it hit him, the boy was not going to use an unforgivable. And perhaps it would be better for their relationship, he was afraid that Neville was far too comfortable with him.

The spell was barely out of Neville's mouth before Snape reacted, and to Snape's surprise the blasting curse barely missed him as he sprang out of the way and cast a shield wandlessly. The boy had been getting better. Within a few seconds, however, he had Neville pinned and his wand taken from him. Snape wanted to yell at the child, shake him, demand to know why he was being so foolish. But instead, he felt the boy sobbing beneath his grasp. He gave long, wrenching sobs without even his hands available to hide his face or wipe his tears. And Snape held him there in a wrestling lock, not a hug by any means but it was . . . contact.

"I'm sorry, sir," Neville sniffed, coming back to himself. "You didn't deserve that."

"Accepted," Snape answered, loosening his hold and sitting beside the young Gryffindor.

"I know you have to punish me for hexing you," Neville sniffed. "I don't suppose I could talk you into expulsion?"

Snape snorted derisively at that, pushing himself up to a standing position. In truth, it could jeopardize his position if he didn't punish Neville severely and it ever got out that the boy had hexed him. But somehow he just couldn't find it in himself to care at that moment. Though he had not been one of Luna's favorite teachers, he had known the fae child from Ravenclaw. And the fact that she was taken brought bile to his mouth - she was a complete innocent, not causing harm to anyone. And her father was a complete looney, why would Voldemort care what he printed? He found himself praying for her safety.

"Have you ever had firewhiskey, Mr. Longbottom?" Snape asked.

"Um, no sir," Neville replied, concerned. "My Gran doesn't really approve . . ."

"Come have a drink with me," Snape told him. "You're of age now, you're allowed."

Blinking, Neville picked himself up off the floor, and straightening his robes he went over to the headmaster's desk. Snape poured them both a small amount of liquid from a crystal decanter behind his desk, and pushed one towards Neville.

"Here's mud in your eye," Snape told him, and then chuckled at the wary and confused expression he got from the boy.

"Huh?" Neville asked.

"Just drink it," Snape told him. "Down the hatch."

Neville attempted to drink it, but as soon as the fiery liquid went down a little he ended up spitting and choking on it. He nearly dropped the glass in his choking, but his fear of Snape managed to help him hold onto it.

"Longbottom," Snape sighed, and snapped his fingers. He ordered two egg nogs with extra rum from the house elf that appeared, and a pitcher for refills. Perhaps the boy could keep that down.

"Here, try this," Snape told him. "This is a festive drink and should be easier on your palate."

Neville fearfully took the glass, feeling wary as the firewhiskey still burned in his throat. He sipped the drink warily, but then a smile spread across his face. This he could drink.

"Thank you, sir," he smiled. And then, he noticed out loud, "It makes my stomach feel warm."

"That is the general idea," Snape told him, quaffing the firewhiskey and then picking up the egg nog. This drink had always reminded him of faculty parties with Dumbledore, and perhaps that what made him want it now. He missed the old coot, and he doubted there would be a faculty party he was invited to this year.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Neville asked in a small voice. "I just attacked you."

"Perhaps I am lulling you into a drunken stupor to interrogate you," Snape told him, sipping the alcoholic foamy sweetness. "Don't underestimate my evil intentions."

Neville snorted. "I don't even know who's evil anymore," he said, sounding depressed. "Do you ever wonder if maybe Voldemort is right and it's us that's wrong?"

"No, I don't wonder that," Snape answered sharply.

"I do," Neville sipped his drink again. "But then I think of what Dumbledore said that time after Cedric was killed. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was something about if we were ever wondering if that side was really evil then we should remember Cedric. Harry said that the Dark Lord says that there's no good and evil, only power. I don't want to believe that's true."

"It's not," Snape told him bluntly. "There's good and evil, and evil knows it's on the evil side. But sometimes it doesn't care."

Neville belched softly, and Snape poured him more nog.

"What are your plans, Mr. Longbottom?" Snape asked him. "I mean, as the leader of Dumbledore's Army."

Even in his mildly intoxicated state, Neville recognized the trap. Snape had been drilling him on interrogation tactics, and even tactics to withstand veritaserum.

"Dumbledore's army was a silly club from fifth year," Neville scoffed. "It was just to practice stuff together. We just thought the name was cool."

"I see. And what about your other activities here?"

"What activities?" Neville answered, deliberately obtuse. "I have never made the quidditch team, and they've shut down the herbology club this year. I was president of that last year."

"Tell me about your plans with Harry Potter."

"I want him to come back, I miss him," Neville evaded, though there was a great deal of honesty in that sentiment. "I hope he's safe."

"According to _Potterwatch_ he is," Snape snorted, breaking off the interrogation. Neville was improving. Then, more seriously, he said, "I want you to pretend that I am good. What would you tell me then?"

"Really?" Neville asked. "I thought you never wanted me to do it."

"You're drunk, and I'm going to modify your memory enough that this whole evening feels like a drunken dream," Snape told him. "But I cannot stand the lies and the subterfuge anymore. Tell me the truth."

"We are trying to protect the helpless and keep things together as much as possible until Harry returns," Neville admitted. "And we are actively working against you and the Carrows and trying to undermine your authority."

"That sounds good," Snape smiled. He was glad he was still targeted. "But what can Harry Potter do about this mess?"

"I don't know," Neville replied honestly. "But we in the DA just believe that we need to be ready and available for when he needs us. Right now we're trying to keep Hogwarts, because we think it's important for the end."

"How do you know he'll come back?" Snape asked.

"Dumbledore said he would," Neville replied solidly. "He said that when he did, the final battle would be close at hand."

That was interesting news, Snape didn't know that Dumbledore had told others about that. Dumbledore had told Snape everything he knew, or at least that's what he told Snape. The old man had been wily, Snape would never know exactly what the truth was from him.

"He's going to kill Voldemort, you know," Neville told him with confidence. "Harry's going to save us all."

"It seems a tall order for an unkempt teenager," Severus sneered, but he knew the truth as well. The boy was their best hope.

"And then you can come out of the closet."

"What?" Snape asked, incredulous.

"You can decide if you're good or evil," Neville burped again, but Snape did not pour the boy another. "You know, Harry and Ron both think you're a monster."

"I know," Snape answered, though the answer made him surprisingly sad. He had spent most of his adult life appearing as evil but secretly working for good, but the knowledge that Lily's son believed his subterfuge unexpectedly saddened him.

"And Ginny thinks you're a right git, especially after you caned her that time when she was caught with the prank stuff. Luna doesn't, though," Neville told him, his eyes half-closed and sleepy. "Luna says that there is more to you than meets the eye. She said the Nargles liked you."

"Indeed," Snape arched an eyebrow.

"She told me to trust you," he acknowledged. "She said that you were trying to help, but that you had to keep up appearances."

"She was always a strange child."

"She was my friend," Neville sniffed. "I hope she's okay."

"She has led a charmed life," Snape told him. "And I see no reason why it shouldn't remain so. Now, you need to go home before your grandmother worries."

"What?" Neville said, feeling a spell tingle on his skin.

"I gave you a bit of a posset to calm your distress," Snape told him. "You seem to have reacted poorly from it. I'm sending you home to your gran by floo."

"I do feel strange," Neville told Snape, confused.

"Here, this potion should clear your head," Snape gave him a sobriety potion.

Neville instantly sobered, and looked around the room in surprise.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You were distraught about Luna and I gave you something to calm you," Snape told him. "You had a funny reaction to it, but you're better now.

"Better," Neville repeated. "Did I hex you?"

"Of course not, Mr. Longbottom," Snape answered sharply. "Do you think you would be standing there if you had? The very idea."

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled.

"Go home to your grandmother, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him. "Here, take the floo here."

Neville obeyed, still feeling dazed, and soon found himself alone in his office, looking at the now-empty fireplace.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Longbottom," he said quietly.


	6. Chapter 6 - Treating Injuries

After Christmas, things grew substantially worse. Snape found himself gazing at graffiti painted on the wall of the dining room that read, "Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting!" and was gnashing his teeth. Any faculty that saw him would assume that he was angry about the newest graffiti, but in reality he was angry that Neville was taking such a risk. He was beginning to think the youth might deserve a few of the whacks with a cane he was sure to receive due to this recent escapade.

"Headmaster," he heard a polite but slightly panicked greeting from behind him. He turned to see Michael Corner, one of Longbottom's confederates. Snape winced slightly at seeing a bruise on the child's face, but schooled his features to appear harsh and uncaring. It would not do for him to turn into a Hufflepuff.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Corner?" Snape asked with a hint of malice in his words.

"Sir, I don't know what to do . . ." he said nearly crying.

"Don't waste my time, foolish child," he told him sharply. "What is the problem?"

"It's Neville, sir," the boy said, tears now streaming down his face. "He's hurt."

"Where is he?" Snape demanded, hiding his sudden worry with anger.

"In the Room of Requirement," the boy admitted, shaking. "I'm not supposed to tell you, but Luna said if something real bad happened that I should get you. Are you going to cane me now, sir?"

"I'm not going to cane you you silly child," Snape barked. "You are acting as my informant; take me to the Room of Requirement. I believe that Neville is overdue for his detention with me."

Michael hopped to obey, and soon they were outside of the entrance to the room.

"We need to find Neville," the boy spoke softly, and the door opened. Inside they found Neville lying on a soft cushion, his leg at a funny angle and clutching his forearm with some soft cotton, trying to stop the blood flow.

Snape assessed the boy rapidly, looking at his color and pulse, and decided he wasn't in immediate danger of shock. But he obviously had injuries to tend to.

"I am quite disappointed that you are late for your detention with me," Snape told Neville harshly. "If you think being injured is any excuse for that, I would hope to disabuse you of the notion now."

"Yes, sir," Neville replied, wincing at the pain. "Sorry sir."

"I suppose I will let you make it up for double the detentions," Snape told him grumpily. "Now let's get you to Madame Pomfrey."

"I can't walk," Neville admitted. "I had to crawl in here."

"I believe the bone to be broken," Snape told him soberly. "But it doesn't look like it has separated."

"It hurts a lot more than when I sprained my wrist as a first year," Neville told him, smiling briefly remembering his first broom ride.

"I could either transport you by stretcher or I can heal you enough to get there on your own," Snape told him.

"Please heal me, sir," Neville asked, his voice tight with pain. "I don't think it would do either of us any good for you to be levitating me throughout Hogwarts."

"I will," Snape told him. "What was the spell used?"

"I didn't catch it all, and it's not one I know," Neville admitted. "It started as 'Septosim' something."

"Sectumsempra?" Snape asked neutrally, though his stomach sank within himself. How much damage was that one damned spell going to cause?

"That was it!" Neville agreed. "Do you know it?"

"Indeed," Snape answered, expressionless. "It is a very damaging spell. It hit your arm?"

"I blocked a lot of it," Neville told him. "It only hit here on my arm. But I was by the stairs, and the force of it knocked me backwards, and I tumbled down the stairs. The Carrow just laughed at me and walked away."

"You are fortunate, then," Snape told him. "It could be a lot worse. I'm going to heal the wound on your arm first. This spell is difficult to counter, but luckily I know it."

"Thank you, sir," Neville thanked him, trying to remain calm despite the dizzying pain. "Do you want me to let go?"

"Yes, Mr. Longbottom, I have it," Snape told him, taking the bloody cloth and then readying his wand. He peeled back the cloth, showing an angry gash that was showing no signs of clotting. Murmuring the song-like incantation, he waved his wand over the wound, and Neville's skin closed with a cloud of black smoke leaving the flesh.

"What spell is that?" Neville asked.

"It's a healing spell and the best counter for that curse," Snape explained. "It's called Vulnera Sanentur."

Neville repeated that spell on his tongue, mimicking how Snape had pronounced and almost sang the words.

"For maximum effect you say it three times," Snape instructed the two boys. "The first time, it slows the flow of blood so the person doesn't bleed to death. The second time clears the wound of whatever's there; be it curse, poison or dirt. And then third, to fully knit the wounds together."

"That's wicked!" the Corner boy commented, completely forgetting to be afraid of the Headmaster.

"You will still need Madame Pomfrey to give you Dittany in order not to scar," Snape told him. "But you're out of danger now."

"Will this work for the blood quill?" Corner asked.

"Not as well," Snape told him. "You really need salve for that. This really only works for bleeding wounds, especially ones caused by magic. The blood quill cuts you, but seals it too."

Corner rubbed the back of his hand and grimaced. Snape sighed, he had bigger fish to fry than the back of this boy's hand.

"Bones being mended are better for a potion," Snape explained, fishing around his numerous pockets. "I happen to have some Skele-gro in my robe. Here, Mr. Longbottom, drink this."

"That tastes terrible!" Neville protested after he quaffed the vial. "Yuck!"

"You will lay here and let that potion work," Snape told him. "In a few minutes, you should be able to walk."

"Thank you, headmaster," Neville nodded politely.

"Is there any other major injuries?" he asked, looking the boy over critically. He didn't seem to have lost too much blood, but could still likely use a blood replenisher. He had been smart to staunch the wound.

"Just bumps and bruises," Neville replied. "My tailbone is pretty sore."

"If you broke it, the potion will help that too," Snape told him. "You have a few scrapes, but those I can leave for Poppy. Are you dizzy?"

"A bit," Neville admitted.

"You must have lost a lot of blood," Snape told him. "I wish I had a way to get you to Poppy."

Just then, a fireplace roared to life in the corner of the room.

"What's that?" Snape asked suspiciously, restraining himself from reaching for his wand.

"The room gives you what you need," Neville tried to explain.

"Is this that place that you foolishly formed that silly club?" Snape asked.

"Yes, sir," Neville admitted.

"Pity that you didn't tell it you needed somewhere that Umbridge couldn't break into," Snape told him.

"That's a great idea!" Neville told him. "I'll do that."

"Gryffindors!" Snape grumbled. "So will that fireplace floo us to the infirmary?"

"My guess is that it will," Neville answered. "The room does best with specific requests."

Snape went over to the fireplace and took the pot of floo powder helpfully left on the mantle for them. Throwing the powder in, he called, "Madame Pomfrey?"

"Yes?" he heard her reply.

"Ready yourself for a patient," he told her firmly, and then returned to Neville.

"Here you go," he told the boy as he helped him up, wrapping the youth's arm around his own neck to support him. "Hold on."

Neville paled as he stood, and leaned heavily on the Headmaster. Corner watched in surprise as Snape deftly and gently handled the boy.

"We'll have you laying down in the infirmary in a few minutes," Snape told him. "Come on."

"Me too?" Corner asked.

"Don't you have class?" the Headmaster asked.

"Yes, sir," the boy admitted.

"Then go to it!" Snape snapped. "I have caned children for less."

The boy scrambled off, and Snape was somewhat mollified by instilling some fear in the boy before he went. These Gryffindors became overly-familiar far too quickly.

"It seems like this room could make a nice sanctuary for children being hunted," Snape told Neville as they stepped into the fireplace.

With a rush, they were in the infirmary and Poppy was catching Neville with deft hands and a ready wand. She had his clothes transfigured into a hospital gown and tucked into a cot before Snape could hardly blink.

"What happened to him?"

"Damaged by a hex," Snape told her smoothly. "He took an accidental fall down the stairs after. I stopped the bleeding from the hex, but I'm afraid he may have lost a lot of blood. His leg was broken and I gave him Skele-gro."

"Have you given him pain medication?" she asked coldly. "Or is the pain he's suffering from your abuse part of the punishment he deserves?"

"This is not a caning, you may deliver pain medication," Snape told her, not denying the charges. When he saw Neville attempt to correct her impression, he glared at the boy until he nodded in obedience. He would keep Snape's secret.

"Thank you for allowing me to do my job!" she snapped at the Headmaster.

Neville winced in concern, was pain medication and salve after a caning forbidden? Were the house elves that delivered it breaking the rules? He vowed never to tell anyone about his jar of salve.

"May I remind you, Madame, that your employment here is at my whim," he told her carefully, hoping to Merlin that the woman would curb her tongue and see sense. The last thing he wanted to do was fire one of the best protectors of the children. "I would hate for you to have . . . employment problems at a time when the children clearly need you here."

"Why?" she demanded. "So I can patch them up when you and your cronies cut them up? Maybe without me here you'll think twice!"

"Do you really believe that to be true?" he asked silkily. In reality, the woman's anger made his stomach twist in grief. He had always admired Poppy, and saw her as a strict and determined Matron. To have her think such ill of him was as bad as having to do it to McGonagall. There are days he really hated Dumbledore and all of his machinations, but he knew it was his part in bringing down Voldemort. It just made him feel so desperately tired.

"No," she admitted, pursing her lips.

"I'm glad we have an understanding," he told her calmly. "Please let me know if your examination of Mr. Longbottom reveals anything I need to know about."

"Why?" she asked defiantly. She knew she would curb her tongue enough to avoid sacking, but was determined not to let the betrayer Severus Snape off easy.

"He has additional detentions assigned," Snape replied smoothly. "I would hate for him to miss them."


	7. Chapter 7 - Subterfuge

Things got worse still. Neville did heal from his fall, thanks in no small part to both the Headmaster and Madame Pomfrey. Neville did not stay in the infirmary any longer than necessary, however, because the Carrows had the run of everywhere and even Poppy couldn't keep them out. Dumbledore's Army, true to Snape's suggestion, started having many of the half-blood students stay in the room of requirement. By February, there were students in there around the clock. The room created hammocks, boys and girls lavatories, and even schoolbooks so they could continue their studies. The room could not provide food, however, and so the acquisition of that food was a major source of anxiety for Neville.

"Who's on the roster for today?" Neville asked Seamus as they were unpacking the food that they had snitched from the house elves. The house elves were technically supposed to obey the headmaster, but they managed to find ways to allow themselves to be robbed. Neville wasn't so sure that wasn't what the headmaster ordered.

"We have the half-blood firsties in here now all the time," Seamus told him. "And most of the second years."

Neville looked Seamus over critically, worried about his puffy and bruised face. "Who got you this time?" he asked softly.

"The male one," Seamus answered, touching his eye self-consciously. "He didn't catch me with the paint, but I was coming out of the cupboard it was kept in. I insisted that I was simply putting something away for McGonagall, but of course . . ."

"Which one did you go with this time?" Neville asked.

"I thought I'd do a classic," Seamus answered. "I went with 'Remember Cedric.'"

"I like that one," Neville smiled. "Good work."

"Is it, you know?" Seamus asked.

"Going to cost me the cane?" Neville asked, grimacing. "We'll see. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn't."

"Snape is a git," Seamus scowled. "I know you think he's trying to help us, but . . ."

"I'm still not sure if he's good or bad," Neville admitted. "But he's better than the Carrows. I sometimes wonder if he's just trying to get information out of me, but in the meantime he's protecting us at least a little."

"Tell your backside next time he takes that cane to you," Seamus scoffed.

"It hurts," Neville told him. "But it's better than the cruciatus. And I have that salve too. Would you like me to get some for your face?"

"No," Seamus answered. "The room has started stocking healing supplies when you told it we needed them. I don't want to use too many, however, because I think the Carrow that gave it to me might get suspicious."

"Then that's an advantage with the cane," Neville smirked. "Nobody sees it."

"You know, maybe we should step back some of it," Seamus suggested. "You know, save your backside a bit?"

"It gives people heart," Neville said softly. "I remember when Harry stood up to that monster Umbridge. No matter how many detentions he had where she made him slice open his hand with that bloody quill, he kept saying the truth about You-Know-Who. It gave us all heart, and reminded us that Umbridge and the ministry were lying."

Seamus shook his head. "It's bloody foolish," he said. "For Harry too. But I understand what you mean."

"It's war," Neville told him. "And we're doing our part of it. Our part is to hold Hogwarts as well as we can until Harry returns."

"He's not coming back, mate," Seamus scowled. "We can't wait for him to come back, we need to protect ourselves and the younger kids."

"We do need to protect the younger kids," Neville agreed. "But we also need to give them hope. If we think that the Dark Lord is going to win, then we've lost the war."

"He is going to win," Seamus grumbled. "Our only hope is Harry, and let's be honest mate, the bloke couldn't even pass Potions without Granger."

"He's the chosen one," Neville told him stubbornly. "He's our best hope."

"Look, mate, we're holding nothing," Seamus told him. "The only reason we're here is because we're hostages. They're using us to make our families cooperate."

"Then let's make sure that we're hard to control," Neville told him. "We're not merely pawns in this, we can fight back!"

"Like Nina Smith?" Seamus asked. "Do I need to remind you that she's most likely dead?"

"What would you have us do?" Neville snapped. "Give up? Become good hostages? Roll over and hope the Carrows don't kick us? Are you a Gryffindor or what?"

"I'm a Gryffindor," Seamus replied with chagrin. "Tell me what to do you bloody hero."

"Get Ginny," he told him. "There's a half-blood Ravenclaw third year hiding in Myrtle's bathroom that needs to make it here without the Carrows finding her. They're looking for her, apparently her parents aren't cooperating. The two of you should be able to manage it."

"Where are you going?" Seamus asked.

"Distraction," Neville replied. "I'm going to get myself caught, preferably by both of them."

"What makes you think it will take both?" Seamus asked.

"They like to watch," Neville grimaced. "They like to watch me get the cane. I'll make sure that they get their show."

"How do you know about so much stuff?" Seamus asked, wondering.

"I just know," Neville told them. "Make sure you have Ginny, though, and maybe even Dean too. You know, Seamus, as a half-blood yourself, at some point you're going to have to start hiding out in here too."

"I will fight while I can," Seamus told him, his face set with determination.

"Just take care, then."

"I will," Seamus said. "How long will it take you to get in trouble?"

"Quarter hour, tops," Neville told him. "What do you think, getting caught with the graffiti or playing a prank?"

"I hear getting caught with anything from Fred and George's store will get you in trouble," Seamus told him. "Stink bombs?"

"I wish I could attack the Carrows directly," Neville mused. "But I don't want to 'disappear.' It has to be bad enough to distract but not so bad they kill me."

"I'm telling you, stink bombs are a classic."

"I have an idea," Neville smiled. "Get some parchment."

. . .

Snape was in his office working on paperwork when an angry knock sounded. The person knocking burst into the room almost as Snape called for them to enter, and not to any great surprise on the Headmaster's part it was both Carrows with Neville. What did surprise him, however, was that the Carrows had several parchments clutched in their hands and instead of looking irate, they were smirking and looked as if they were expecting something really good, like how a student might look on Halloween or Christmas.

"What have we here?" Snape asked, his voice full of malice.

"Caught red-handed," the female Carrow smirked. "He was posting these in the hallways."

Snape accepted one of the parchments from him, and read what was on it impassively. He looked sharply at Neville after he read it, trying to understand why he would do something so obvious and so clearly earning the cane. Ah, Snape realized. He wants to distract the Carrows while something else was going on, and so he did something that he knew would make them take him to the Headmaster with glee at what they would witness - his caning. Snape could barely stand how noble this teen was - did he really have no sense of self-preservation?

"I see," Snape said, putting the parchment down on his desk. "Really, Mr. Longbottom, if you cannot do a better likeness of me you should probably end your career in art altogether."

"Yes, sir," Neville answered, his eyes glued firmly on his shoes.

"I also would like to remind you in the future that you should not write things that are not actually true. I'm touched that you would show concern over my parentage, but let me assure you that my parents were actually married at my birth. And I would also like to comment that some of the suggestions you make about my leisure activities are anatomically impossible, even for a wizard."

"I'm sorry, sir," Neville mumbled, eyes still glued to his shoes.

"I'm sure you are now," Snape mused. "People always are when they're caught."

"It was just a joke, really," Neville explained, licking his lips with anxiety. "A prank. Things have just been so difficult around here that I thought people could use a laugh."

"I'm certain that you understand that such a prank will earn you a session with the cane, do you not?"

"I understand," Neville sighed, and nodded. Then, with a furtive glance at the headmaster, he hoped that Snape would understand his meaning. "Please, sir, don't cane me in front of the Carrows. Please, sir."

"Of course I will cane you in front of them," Snape snapped at the boy, understanding that's what he wanted. "But your detention after will be more . . . private. I believe by now you know the drill."

"Yes, sir," Neville replied. "May I remove my robe?"

"You may," Snape told him, summoning the cane. "Bend over the desk. Six of the best, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville, paling but trying to look brave, took off his robe and laid it beside him on the desk. Snape heard the soft click of potion vials, and understood why Neville wanted to remove his robes. Perhaps the boy had taken to carrying around potions in his robe as Snape himself did, so he would be prepared for whatever injury he came across. That in itself earned him an easier detention this evening, he wouldn't even use stinging hexes for shielding practice.

"Only six?" the female Carrow protested. "He was trying to humiliate you!"

"He did such a poor job he barely warrants six," Snape told her, flexing the cane. "If he were more competent he might get more. And as I said, six at my hand is no small matter."

Neville obeyed, swallowing firmly and trying hard to focus his mind so that he could suffer the cane without breaking down.

"Prepare yourself, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him, touching his bottom with the cane to take aim. The cane whistled through the air, ending with a sharp crack on Neville's upturned bottom. He flinched and let out a small cry, though he bit his lip against more. The cane fell again and then again, filling the silent room with the whoosh and the crack.

"Six," Snape said dispassionately as he delivered the final blow on the miscreant's bottom. He observed Neville's tears and his pain, though he tried not to feel sympathy for the boy. This was war, and a few stripes never killed anyone.

"You may rise, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him, sending the cane back to the cupboard. "But do not leave, we have detention remaining."

"What do you make him do during detention?" the male Carrow asked with a leer.

"That is not something you are going to find out," Snape firmly told him. "I believe that you two are needed elsewhere."

"You never let us have any fun," the female Carrow protested.

"You watched the caning," Snape told her with a frown. "I'm not sure why you think the rest of his punishment will be fun to watch. I suppose you could watch it as he scrubs my floor with a toothbrush . . ."

"I guess we could go back to patrol," the female Carrow agreed. "But if you do anything creative, make sure you call us back."

"Indeed, I will," Snape nodded.

After the two were gone, Snape cast a muffling spell and then turned to Neville. "Was that sufficient time or do you need me to call them back to witness your further punishment?"

"That should have been sufficient," Neville answered, touching his backside gingerly and then rubbing it gently. "That really hurt."

"It was meant to," Snape told him sharply. "We can't have anybody thinking I'm going soft on you, now can we?"

"Of course not," Neville nodded. "I understand."

"You deserved at least a few good whacks for the graffiti," Snape told him. "You need to stop being so foolish about engaging in such inane gestures."

"I'm trying to keep hope alive," Neville told him honestly.

"There has got to be easier ways."

"Harry did it this way," Neville replied stubbornly. "People get hope when they see someone standing up to the evil oppressors."

"Is that hope worth what it costs you?"

"Probably," Neville smirked. "Ask me when my arse isn't on fire."

Snape couldn't help but smirk back at the boy, he was just so engaging. What he was doing had certain logic, even though it was completely against the logic and strategy that Snape employed himself. Snape had noticed this with Harry too, his stubborn resistance to submitting to the ministry and Umbridge really did inspire his classmates. It had impressed Dumbledore as well, although his approval had to be more circumspect.

"The poster was a good strategy, however," Snape commented. "It got them both here, and it convinced them that I would be harsh in my punishment. However, the art was somewhat lacking."

"I shall try to improve," Neville smirked.

"Good, then let's get on with the rest of your detention."

"Yes," Neville replied with a smirk. "Should I get my toothbrush?"

"Only if you fail to block well enough," Snape drawled. "En Garde!"


	8. Chapter 8 - Michael Corner

By Easter, anybody who could get out of Hogwarts did. Even Ginny was hidden away by her parents and didn't return to Hogwarts. Snatchers roamed the woods and towns trying to find Hogwarts-aged kids that had escaped. Many escapees were brought back, bruised and scared for their troubles, only to be soundly caned by the headmaster. Their punishment complete, they would then return to their dorms and resume "normal" life. For purebloods this worked because the Carrows were fine with bruising and punishing purebloods, they didn't really want to permanently hurt most of them. Their ire was saved mainly for the half-bloods or those unfortunate purebloods that had uncooperative parents. Soon there were banners from each house except Slytherin in the Room of Requirement, and more and more students were taking up residence.

Those that still could go to classes, did. Neville made a point of it in large part so that students could contact him when they were ready to go into hiding. He paid for it with bumps and bruises from the Carrows, and an occasional caning by the headmaster. But McGonagall also would hand him packages of shrunken food and Professor Sprout would give Neville fresh fruit and vegetables as well as healing herbs. Even Professor Flitwick managed to slip him contraband on the sly, but from his was mostly charmed objects such as small tracking devices and alarms they could set.

The class that had once been called Defense Against the Dark Arts had be renamed simply Dark Arts was the hardest for Neville, however. The male Carrow taught that class, and much of the time was spent learning and performing unforgivables. If a child was so foolish as to earn detentions they could often find themselves the subject of the Cruciatus during the class.

"Your Cruciatus seems lacking," the male Carrow told Neville as he was "practicing" the spell on a second year Hufflepuff that and somehow earned the Carrow's ire.

"I just can't seem to do it, sir," Neville replied politely. "I suppose this means that I will get a poor grade for my performance today."

"That's not all you will receive!" the Carrow bellowed at Neville, flicking his wand and creating a gouge along Neville's cheek. Neville yelped and cried out, giving an overly dramatic response to the injury. In truth the gouge, while painful, was not that bad and actually matched one he had received in Muggle Studies that morning. But he knew that if he did not react the punishment would escalate, so he appeared distraught. Snape had taught him that, though it never actually worked on him.

"Please, sir," Neville asked him, but couldn't bring himself to beg. "Please. I'll practice and do better."

"See that you do!" the Carrow snapped, but felt mollified by Neville's reaction. "Class dismissed."

Neville carefully followed the second year target out of the room. He came up beside her when they were a safe distance away, tugging gently on the arm of her robe.

"Do you want to hide?" he asked her carefully. "I can keep you safe."

"Can you?" the girl asked. "My mum wanted me to stay home, but we were so scared of the snatchers . . ."

"Go now and pack a small bag with your essentials and bring it under your robe for lunch," Neville told her. "I'll take you there directly after lunch."

"Is that where Alissa Baker and Eliot Garver are?"

"I believe so," Neville told her, trying to remember. "I don't remember all their names. But you'll see lots of people from your house there."

"Thank you," the girl looked up at him with adoring eyes.

. . .

"Food is becoming a problem," Seamus told Neville as they un-shrunk a bag of groceries from McGonagall and began unpacking them. "We're going to have to figure out a better solution."

"I think as long as you, Michael and I are free we can keep snitching," Neville told him. "Although it's a lot harder without Ginny and Dean. Ginny was very good at this."

"Growing up with all those brothers," Seamus joked. "She had to get good at getting food or she'd starve to death."

Neville laughed, and looked over their meager food supply. They were going to have to come up with something different, especially given the burgeoning population of the Room of Requirement. It had done his heart good to bring in that second year Hufflepuff today, though. She had actually cried with relief at finding her friends there. Neville realized that people not in the room or part of Dumbledore's Army wouldn't know what happened to kids - and everyone knew that some of the missing kids were dead. And now here they all were shut up in a room together hoping beyond hope that somehow the greatest Dark Wizard of their age would be defeated by a boy that they knew and did not seem all that impressive to anybody. Neville realized that It was such a hard combination for the kids to be hungry, bored and scared - so he was determined to try and reduce these hardships as much of that as he could. Harry could sort out Voldemort, he had his job.

"We need to make sure everyone's practicing their spells," Neville told Seamus. "It's getting close now, I can feel it."

"I will work on stepping up drills," Seamus nodded. "Michael has got the kids doing their lessons too, that should help with the boredom."

"Harry's got to come soon," Neville remarked. "He just has to. This cannot go on for much longer."

"What if Harry doesn't come, mate?" Seamus asked. "I mean, what if this really is all there is?"

"He's coming," Neville said firmly. "Our job is to take care of kids and be ready when he gets here."

"How can you say that?" Seamus asked him, his face flushed. "You just got caned again yesterday for graffiti!'

"It wasn't that bad," Neville told him.

"I saw your backside, mate," Seamus told him. "That washroom is not that private. You can't tell me that it wasn't that bad."

"Okay, then let me say that it's worth it," Neville told him. "We're keeping them on their toes."

"At some point, we're going to need to call a peaceful surrender," Seamus told him with a heavy sigh. "Or at least step down the really visible stuff."

"Maybe . . ." Neville considered, then were startled by a woman's cry out.

"Neville!" Lavender Brown shrieked as she came into the room. "Come quick! It's Michael!"

Neville didn't say a word, but pulled his wand and followed her. She quickly lead him and Seamus to just off the main hall to what looked like a crumpled heap of laundry. Neville paled when the heap moved - that heap was Michael.

"What happened?" Seamus demanded as they both flew to his side.

"I was freeing a first year those bastards had chained up in the hall," Michael told them, and then spit blood out of his mouth. "They caught me."

"Where does it hurt?" Neville asked, trying to remain calm. Michael looked really bad.

"Everywhere," Michael snorted. "Look, mate, I can't move my legs."

"Seamus, you and Lavander go and get Madame Pomfrey," Neville ordered. "Go different directions in case one of you gets caught, the other gets through."

"Okay, Neville," Seamus nodded.

"I'll stay here with Michael," Neville told them.

Neville watched as the two of them went different ways, and looked back and Michael.

"Did the firstie get away?" Neville asked him.

"He did," Michael answered with pride, and then coughed a wet, sticky cough. Neville winced when he saw blood coming from his mouth.

"Good work," Neville told him.

"I told him to find you to hide," Michael told him. "Look for him. Little guy with black hair."

"So, just like you?" Neville joked.

"Much more innocent," Michael choked. Blinking, Michael then said in a soft voice, "Neville, if I don't make it . . ."

"I'm not listening to this!" Neville protested. "You're going to make it!"

"If I don't make it, tell Cho . . . I don't know. Tell her something good and say I said it." He then coughed again, turning his head to the side to spit out more blood.

"You'll tell her something yourself," Neville insisted. He examined the boy for external bleeding, and didn't see anything he could treat. It looked like Michael's ribs were crushed and he was bleeding internally, and Neville wasn't prepared for that. He had several potions in his robe, but he couldn't think of what would help. And with him already having trouble breathing, he hesitated to give him a pain potion.

"Madame Pomfrey will be here soon," he told Michael. "You're going to be fine."

"Don't lie to me," Michael told him, choking. "Tell me something else. Tell me a story. Tell me something so that I can picture something other than those bastards' faces as they kicked me."

"When I was younger, before Hogwarts," Neville started. "They didn't think I was a wizard. I came from a long line of wizards, but I never showed any accidental magic so my family was worried. They kept trying to startle and scare me so that I would show my magic, but I kept not doing it."

"That sounds rough," Michael coughed.

"It was," Neville nodded. "Mostly it was just small stuff, like hiding sweets too high for me to reach and things. But I had one uncle that was determined. He would levitate me to scare me, he would jump out at me and make me cry, and he would dangle me out windows to see if I would react."

"Bastard."

"He was," Neville agreed. "Anyway, one day he was dangling me out of the window, and he accidently let go. At least that's what he told Gran anyway; I suspect he did it on purpose. He didn't get his wand out fast enough either, and if my accidental magic hadn't kicked in I could have been killed."

"But it kicked in?"

"It did," Neville told him with a grin. "I bounced. I got my Hogwarts letter not long after that."

Michael snorted, and that cost him another coughing fit.

"My uncle bought me my toad as a reward and Gran said it was also from a guilty conscience too. He could have just waited for me to get my letter, Hogwarts always knows if a child is magical or not."

"What a git."

"Yeah, well, there you go. I have lots of embarrassing stories of getting in trouble at school, but those aren't as much fun. And I know you know the one of me making the Boggart Snape dress like my Gran."

"That was great," Michael agreed, careful not to laugh. "I wouldn't remind the headmaster of that one if I were you."

"Good plan," Neville agreed. "He beats me often enough without any reminders of that one."

Madame Pomfrey suddenly appeared, not through apparition but through a speed charm. She quickly scanned and assessed Michael, making him choke down potions and muttering charms as she went.

"Have you given him anything?" she asked Neville. She was the one who had supplied him with first aid potions.

"No," Neville replied. "I was worried it would hurt him. I have a blood replenisher, but I wasn't sure."

"Good," she told him. "For internal bleeding things are a bit more complicated, your instincts were correct to just wait for me."

"Will he be okay?" Neville asked softly.

"He should be," she told him. "We caught it in time. He's in for a rough night of healing, however. Can you students help levitate him to the infirmary please? He's stable enough to move, but I need my wand free for casting if he needs an emergency spell on the way.

Neville nodded to Lavender and Seamus, and they helped levitate Michael and walk him to the infirmary. They worried about meeting a Carrow on the way, and Neville almost marvelled that they hadn't. Did Madame Pomfrey cast a spell to prevent it?

"Put him down there," Madame Pomfrey directed. "Good. There now Mr. Corner, settle in properly. There you are. Now I need to go and fetch potions from Professor Slughorn, can you students stay here for a moment with him? If you need me just tap your wands to that globe on my desk and I'll return immediately."

"We can stay," Seamus nodded.

"I have something I have to do," Neville told them all. "But Michael should be fine with Lavender and Seamus."

"Be careful," Madame Pomfrey nodded to him. "And don't do anything stupid. We need you alive and well, Mr. Longbottom."

"I'll be careful," Neville nodded.

"Do you need any more of the first aid potions?" she asked him critically.

"We still have enough," Neville told her. "And the room provides some of the basics as well as bandages. Food continues to be one of the critical needs."

"I'll see what I can do," Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Promise me you won't engage the Carrows tonight, Mr. Longbottom."

"I promise," he told her. He meant it too, he wasn't trying to get the Carrows tonight, he needed to talk to Snape. It was time for some decisions to be made, and he couldn't think of one other person other than Snape to talk to about it.


	9. Chapter 9 - Warning

"What brings you to my door at this hour?" Snape asked silkily, motioning for the boy to enter his office. "I believe you know the consequences of breaking school rules."

Neville winced involuntarily, but accepted the invitation.

"I needed to talk to you, sir," Neville told him.

Snape saw the agitation in Neville's movements and the deep worry in his eyes. Snape had gotten to know him well enough to know his tells, and he could tell that something had happened. The small flecks of blood that were probably aspirated onto the boy's shirt cuffs only served to underline that fact. And the blood wasn't Neville's either, Snape decided. The gouges on his cheek were scabbed over, and the blood on his cuffs wasn't even dry yet. Someone else's blood, then, and that would be even harder on the brave youth.

"Drink this first," Snape told him, handing him a small vial.

"What is it?" Neville asked, looking at it.

"Slow acting poison," Snape replied, his eyebrow arching. "Drink it or I'll get the fast-acting one."

Neville quaffed it, knowing that if Snape really wanted him dead it would take the man a flick of his wand. And to have the conversation he wanted to have with the man he would have to trust him, so taking the potion felt like a good way to start. He recognized the taste of a calming draught, and nodded his head.

"Thank you, professor," he told Snape politely. "I guess I needed that."

"Now tell me what you came here to say," Snape told him, motioning for him to sit down at the chair in front of his desk. He knew this conversation had to happen at some point, and he had pondered as to how to defend himself to the Dark Lord should he be able to dredge these memories out of Neville's mind. He knew there was some risk, but he also realized that this was the time. The final battle was coming soon, he could feel it.

"I need your help," Neville told him.

"What makes you think I am an appropriate person?" Snape asked him, arching an eyebrow. "I don't think I have garnered the trust as, say, your head of house."

"McGonagall's alright," Neville admitted. "But she's rubbish at strategy and this kind of stuff. Ron was good at strategy, and even Ginny - but they're gone. And I also want someone that will tell me the truth rather than what they think they should say for the war effort and all."

"I see," Snape replied. "How is it I can be of help, then?"

"I need to know whether or not to give up," Neville said carefully. "I mean, it has just gotten so hard. If it was just me, then I wouldn't worry. But first it was kids starting to disappear, and then it was Luna. Now Ginny's gone, and more and more kids are being hurt. And now Michael Corner . . ."

"What happened to him?" Snape prompted, his lips thin. He found himself hoping that the dark-haired Ravenclaw hadn't actually met an early end.

"He's with Madame Pomfrey, and he's been beaten badly," Neville told him sadly, with a hint of guilt in his tone. "Internal bleeding, she said. But she said he will make it."

"I see," Snape nodded, feeling more relief than he was willing to show. "And you are wondering whether or not you should end your rebellion before someone gets killed. All the gestures that your group has made no longer feel like heroic gestures, but rather petty resistance that now seems far more dangerous than it felt yesterday. Am I correct?"

"You are," Neville agreed, relieved. The man always seemed to know what he wanted to say without saying it, and it was such a relief to not have to explain everything.

"But you also don't want to give up hope," Snape told him softly. "You know that your work has saved countless classmates, and inspired still others to not give up in the hope that this war will end, and that the Dark Lord will be defeated. You are afraid that giving up means that you fail."

"What do I do?" Neville asked, his voice raw. He really didn't know.

Snape wished he could simply be the boy's friend and tell him to run, to use whatever shred of self-preservation he had left to him and skip the country. Sighing, he realized he wished he could say it to himself as well. Just like Neville he was risking himself and everyone he held dear to bring down Voldemort, with no clear assurance that they would succeed.

"Perhaps a change of perspective might be helpful to you," Snape told him. "It wouldn't necessarily be failure for you to, well, change tactics. Think of it as a new phase of your rebellion. You don't have to stop everything, just things you deem as too great of a risk."

"No more graffiti," Neville nodded. "No more pranks. Just rescue, hide and get food."

"The room cannot provide food," Snape pondered. "But I wonder if it could, I don't know, tunnel to somewhere that could? Like somewhere in Hogsmeade?"

"That's a great idea!" Neville smiled a bit. "I'll have to try it."

"Really, Longbottom, you should learn to think out of the box," Snape told him with sarcasm. Then, softer, Snape said, "I need to discuss something with you of great import."

"What is it, sir?"

"You can sometimes be . . . shortsighted, Longbottom. There has been the tactic used for parents all year, that if they refuse to cooperate with the ministry then the ministry would take it out on the children. You've seen the results, undoubtedly."

"Yes, sir," Neville answered, paling. It hadn't been pretty.

"Then I would hope that you would understand when I say that that situation could be reversed," Snape told him carefully. "Right now children are being held responsible for what their parents might do. But at some point soon parents might be held responsible for their children."

"I don't really have parents, or at least not ones the big V will bother with," Neville told him. "I have an an uncle, but he can take care of himself. My cousins are mostly in hiding anyway. But Gran . . ."

"She would likely be their number one target," Snape agreed. "'Tis a pity that students have no access to the floo network nor owls anymore, or perhaps you might be able to warn her."

Neville understood, Snape knew about the floo in the Room of Requirement. He had to warn his Gran, she could be in danger by his activities. His Gran had always been somewhat . . . disappointed in Neville. She had wanted him to be better in Transfiguration and Potions and didn't understand his affinity for Charms and Herbology, but she had begun to back off a lot of that in the past two years. But he wasn't sure how she was going to take the fact that his activities would likely force her to go on the run.

"There is one more matter," Snape told him, his voice grave. "Have you noticed that there are certain . . . punishments that I tend not to use on you?"

"Yes," Neville replied, suddenly a little nervous. Is this when the man breaks down and uses the cruciatus on him?

"I know that you are being taught the cruciatus in your Dark Arts Class," Snape told him. "I also know that you pretended incompetence rather than use the cruciatus on a third year Ravenclaw. I believe her name to be Melodie Mitchell?"

"Something like that," Neville answered carefully.

"Such a frivolous name," Snape sneered. "Miss Mitchell hasn't been seen since then. Rumors are that she is hiding with many other half-bloods and purebloods that have been targeted."

"It's possible," Neville shrugged, knowing the man didn't believe his subterfuge. But he had to keep up appearances.

"If I should ever threaten to or use such a punishment on you, this is a sign of my extreme . . . aggravation," the man told him carefully. "It would be better for you to meet her fate than to have to submit to mine at that point. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Neville told him. Did they just set up a secret code?

"I will certainly be very cross with you should I make such a threat," Snape told him, hoping he was clear. "You would not want to see me then."

"Thank you for the warning, sir," Neville answered, understanding. "I will try my best to not earn such ire from you."

"See that you do," Snape nodded. "I will to see you at your evening detention tomorrow night."

"I will endeavor to be on time, sir," Neville replied.

"Neville, I . . ."

"Yes, sir?" Neville asked.

Snape wanted to say what he was thinking. He wanted to say how proud he was of the young man who went from melting cauldrons and being afraid of his own shadow to being the brave leader of the student rebellion. He wanted to tell the boy that his actions saved lives and limited the Carrows power, and that Snape had seen how he had paid for it with his blood. He wanted to say how much he regretted having to cane him, and how each time he had done it he had grown to hate the action even more. He wanted to say how . . . he had started to have fatherly feelings toward the boy; a far cry from the cruel distain he had shown the boy for most of his Hogwarts career. He wanted to apologize for the harm he had caused the lad, and also to say he had seen the young man he had become. But, of course, he couldn't say any of those things.

"Do get back without being seen," he told him. "I should hate to be interrupted again this evening in order to apply the cane once more to your backside."

"I understand, sir," Neville answered, nodding. "I should hate that as well."

"Then get to bed," Snape told him. "And remember what I said."

"I will, sir," Neville nodded. "I promise."

. . .

Ten minutes later, Neville knelt down by the floo in the Room of Requirement and called his Gran. It had taken him a moment to work up the courage, she was a formidable person and rarely had anything good to say to Neville. But, the thought of not warning her was just too horrible to contemplate.

"Gran, this is Neville," he called into the fire.

"Neville!" she exclaimed happily. "Are you hurt? Held prisoner?"

"I'm fine, Gran," he told her. "I just needed to warn you. I've been, well, I've been sort of one of the leaders for the rebellion at Hogwarts. We've been giving the Carrows and Snape a bad time and trying our best to protect and rescue the half-bloods."

"You have been?" she asked blankly.

"I have," Neville confirmed. "I'm really sorry, Gran, but I wanted to warn you that it's possible they might come after you to try and . . . well, get me under control. You can't let them take you."

"I'm in danger because you're subverting the ministry and the Dark Lord?" she asked, incredulous.

"I'm really sorry about it," Neville apologized.

"You should be!" his Gran snapped at him. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Well, I was trying to keep it a secret . . ."

"Of course, of course, I understand," she answered. "But let me tell you that it was simply horrid to listen to Lavender Brown's Grandpa brag about how his grand daughter is fighting, and I have no clue as to what you're up to. And you're _leading_ it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Neville replied, confused.

"What has Snape done to you?"

"Well, I've gotten the cane more than any other student," Neville replied. "I've been in the infirmary several times as well . . ."

"Neville, I couldn't be more proud!" his Gran told him, her voice bubbling over with emotion. "Your parents would be so proud. My Grandson, the freedom fighter!"

"But Gran, you may be in danger . . ."

"Don't worry about me," she told him pertly. "I was a dueling champion in my own right, and I dare them to try something! But I shall pack a bag and be ready for them."

"Gran, you should just run . . ."

"I am not running from the likes of the death eaters," she told them, her voice blazing. "Let them try and come!"

"Promise me you'll be careful," he told her. "Please, Gran, I couldn't stand it if you were hurt on my account."

"I'll be careful," she promised, though her voice was still feisty.

"I have to go now, Gran," Neville told her. "Get me a message if you can."

"I will!" she answered, practically singing in joy.

After he hung up, Neville looked at the fire in the floo for a few moments, trying to make sense of that conversation. He had thought his grandma would be irate at him, and instead she acted like he'd gotten O's on all his NEWTS.

"She's nuts, mate," Seamus told him. People couldn't help overhearing, the room wasn't that big.

"I thought she'd shout at me," Neville admitted. "I never imagined she'd be this happy."


	10. Chapter 10 - Bolt Hole

_AN: There are most likely two chapters left in this story - I just wanted to warn people. One question I did have was about rating - I've debated between T and M. I started as M and then moved it to T - I would love feedback about what people think. Thanks!_

* * *

Neville had always thought April was a boring month. Not winter and not spring enough to be useful - just a lot of rain and only a bit of green here and there. But this April, things were different. Everyone knew that they were living by pure nerves alone, and the classes at Hogwarts were so empty that it was pure habit that kept them running; nobody was learning anything. Neville had already moved his few essentials to the Room of Requirement, knowing that any day he would have to bolt like a rabbit into his hole. The room already held most of the younger students that had been in Dumbledore's Army, as well as the school's population of half-bloods. Neville was beginning to wonder if they were taxing the abilities of the Room of Requirement, but the room just kept expanding and kept adding hammocks.

Food was really becoming an issue, however. It was the full-time job of Seamus and Neville to get food to the students, which was made harder by Michael's long recuperation. Even if he were fit Neville felt it best that he remain out of sight, he didn't want too many questions about his recovery. Not that the Carrows would necessarily notice, they had begun to have an almost crazed look on their faces, and their punishments were becoming less and less rational.

 _Harry has to come soon,_ Neville told himself as he surveyed the half-empty dining hall. _He just has to._

And it was on that rainy mid-April afternoon that the final phase of the rebellion started. Neville was seated in the main hall, ostensibly to do his homework but in actuality he was looking out for the next student who would come to him and ask to go into hiding. Everyone knew that Neville was the way to safety, so he had to stay visible.

An owl suddenly swooped over him, dropping a small scroll into his hands. Unwrapping it, he read the short note it contained:

 _Mr. Longbottom,_

 _You must come to my office immediately or you will face the Cruciatus._

 _Headmaster Snape_

Neville gulped, this was the signal. Something had happened and Snape was warning him to hide. Now all he had to do was to make it to the Room of Requirement without being detained.

Casually tucking the note in his pocket, Neville stood and looked as if he was obeying it by heading to the headmaster's office. Gathering his books, he nodded to Seamus.

"Snape wants me to come to his office," he told Seamus.

"Caning or detention?" Seamus asked, putting down his quill.

"Not sure," Neville told him. "Walk with me for part of it?"

"Sure," Seamus answered. Seamus knew that something was wrong, but also that Neville was trying to be careful not to be overheard.

The Carrows had seen him get the note, so they hardly took notice of him as he packed up his books and headed out of the room.

"We need to get to the room," Neville told him quietly. "Who else is out?"

"Michael's still in it," Seamus told him. "Carrows have been bad today, people should mostly be in it."

"I'm going to pretend I'm going to the Headmaster's room, take a quick look around for any vulnerable students and get in there. Okay?"

"Okay," Seamus answered.

"Five minutes," Neville told him. "It's possible we're going to be in there for a while."

"We don't have much food," Seamus told him.

"Better to be a bit hungry than to be dead," Neville told him. "Get in there as fast as you can, I can't stall them for too long. They'll be watching."

"Alright," Seamus told him. "I'll do a quick lap and then get in."

Neville nodded, and thought about how to give Seamus more time. _The Loo_ , he decided, and headed for the boy's toilet. He took as long as he dared in there, dawdling in the toilet and then washing his hands thoroughly.

Neville, hoping that Seamus had had enough time, made his way out of the toilet. He could walk a little further and still be safe, it looked like he was on his way to the headmaster's office. In fact, his dawdling might even appear to be reluctance to face whatever punishment people would assume he would get.

Neville walked to the point of decision - one way to the Room and the other to the Headmaster's office. He took a look around, set his jaw in determination. Now he would do what Snape would call the better part of valor. He would survive to fight another day.

Neville started walking briskly toward the Room of Requirement, looking as if he was going where he was supposed to be. It did not take long, however, before a mighty roar and a wind began in the hallway.

"Neville Longbottom!" he heard Professor Snape's voice echo through the hallway. "Come to my office at once!"

Neville, dropping his books and breaking into a dead run, broke for the Room of Requirement. He had never felt the need quite so strongly as he did at that moment, and he knew the Room would be open and waiting for him.

Neville hardly had time to think about why Snape would be making such a show for Neville to come to his office, but he heard another voice in the wind, gaining ground behind him. It was an awful, hissing voice, and it urged Neville even faster. Neville, trying to school himself to think rather than panic, drew his wand as he ran. He managed to erect a shield behind himself just in time to block a stunning spell coming from behind him. Not even looking to see who cast the spell, he kept running.

The door of the room grew ahead of him, and he willed himself faster.

"Neville!" he heard the hissy voice call out. "Ssstop now or I will . . ."

 _Voldemort!_ Neville realized with horror. His reflexes took over from his mind, however, and he dove through the doorway and into the room.

"We need to be safe from everyone!" he called out to the room desperately. "We need to be safe, even from Voldemort!"

The walls surrounding the room seemed to thicken and toughen, and a glistening of icy blue magic rippled over the surfaces of the walls and ceiling. Neville knew then that they were sealed up tightly, and that there was no in or out as long as Voldemort was there.

"Did Seamus make it?" Neville asked, panting.

"He made it," Michael assured him.

"I'm here, mate," Seamus told him. "Grabbed a handful of half-bloods I saw lingering about and ushered them in. It's as good as we get for now."

"I hope it holds," Michael told them, running his hand over the newly reinforced walls. "I mean, Umbridge got through . . ."

"We never told the room not to let her," Neville assured them. "She'll hold."

"Is that enough?" Seamus asked. "I mean, we're all kind of sitting ducks in here if it doesn't . . ."

"It's enough," Neville assured them. "But I pity those left on the outside."

"Neville Longbottom!" Voldemort called out, his voice sounding painful and scratchy as it filled the room. Everyone in the room covered their ears reflexively. "I have no desire to shed your blood, nor the blood of any other pureblood here. You have been very brave, but now is the time for reason. I am sending Aurors to your Grandmother, and I believe after that you will need to decide if your misguided heroics are worth her life."

"Not Gran!" Neville yelled, paling at the thought.

"I will be back with her," Voldemort told him. "In the meantime, you should think of how to employ a dignified surrender."

There were several moments of silence, and people knew that the conversation was over.

"What are you going to do, mate?" Seamus asked him. "Should we figure out a surrender."

"We're going to do what my Gran would want us to do," Neville told them. "Keep fighting."

"How do you know that's what she'd want?" a younger Hufflepuff asked.

"I don't talk about it much," Neville told her. "But my parents were Aurors. They were captured by Bellatrix Lestrange, and tortured with the cruciatus until they went insane. My Gran is nothing but proud of them, and so am I. My Gran would rather lay down her life than watch her Grandson surrender."

. . .

Snape stood beside Voldemort as he examined the wall the held the Room of Requirement.

"Is there a way through, Severus?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

Snape knew better than to think he wasn't angry. "No, Milord," Snape answered. "Unfortunately the room is part of the very fabric of Hogwarts itself. I don't believe there's a way to get in with blunt force."

"We shall have to use the Grandmother then," Voldemort hissed, his voice becoming lower.

"Of course, Milord," Snape told him. "Should I fetch the best Aurors, then? It's such an important mission I would hate to see it be sidetracked by lesser Aurors."

"She's a lonely old woman," Voldemort snapped. "And bait for a mere student. I won't dignify it with a team, that might scare the old bat to the point of heart attack, and then where would we be? Send one man, but make sure he knows what he's doing. I want her alive and well without so much as a scratch."

"Yes, Milord," Snape bowed his head. "You of course know best. I will see to it right away."

"I'm needed at the ministry," Voldemort told him. "This is a school matter, _Headmaster_. I expect you to deal with it."

"Of course, Milord," Snape bowed his head.

Suddenly, Voldemort was in his mind. Snape sunk to his knees from the strength of the assault, and he made it appear that the Dark Lord had gotten past his defenses. He set up a cleverly laid trail of embarrassing scenes and a thirst for power, and Voldemort tore through them, satisfied he had gotten through.

"Please, Milord," Snape begged, his voice weak. "Please. I am your loyal servant."

"That you are," Voldemort confirmed, rifling through a particularly embarrassing memory involving hemorrhoids. "But in this war I must be sure."

Snape endured, barely able to keep from blacking out as Voldemort mercilessly searched. Snape evaded easily in his mind, but he had to make it look convincing. He offered up a memory of a deed done in his true death eater days that still evoked a great deal of shame in him, and amplified the lust he had felt. It had been rape that he had observed; rape of a young and pretty muggle. He had not done the attack but nor had he prevented it; but the shame it evoked in him now he hoped would be real enough. He could not invent scenarios or emotions to fool the Dark Lord, but he could carefully select and then amplify them. He would have reflected briefly on how these were the very things he advised Neville in, except if he had those thoughts would have been available to the Dark Lord.

Satisfied, the Dark Lord then withdrew from his mind. "You are loyal," he said.

"Thank you, Milord," Snape replied, gasping for air.

"But you need to enjoy your work more," Voldemort told him. "You have young and vulnerable students under you, feel free to use them as you will. Only don't permanently harm the purebloods."

"Thank you, Milord," Snape bowed his head. "I am very mindful of your graciousness."

As he swept out of the room, Snape took a real intake of breath. Now to send the most incompetent Auror he could get away with after Neville's Gran. He hoped she was prepared.

. . .

Several hours later, Snape found himself looking at the entrance for the room of requirement, and wondering how it worked. He had limped the entire way to the room; the Dark Lord did not like his failure, even though Snape had carefully crafted it to ensure that he had plausible deniability. Though he had endured the cruciatus more than nearly any other wizard alive and managed to keep his sanity, it was still difficult. And it wasn't just the pain, either, but prolonged exposure caused nerve damage. He knew that after he delivered his message he could take numerous potions and sink into oblivion for the night. Sleep and his potions would cure him.

Neville had said that it worked by what he needed, and he really needed to get a message to Neville. Would the room cooperate?

"I need to get a message to Neville," he told the room, feeling foolish that he was addressing the room as if it were a sentient being. "I'm not asking to get in or to do anything to harm the students in there. Neville would want this message."

The room was quiet, and Snape began to wonder if this was going to work. "Just a message," Snape repeated. "Maybe a parchment, or . . ."

The wall shifted before Snape, and a parchment appeared attached to a clipboard. A Quill appeared on a string.

"Thank you," Snape told the room, and went to the wall. He thought for a moment, and then wrote:

 _Your Gran was more than they were expecting. Dawlish is in the hospital and she is on the run, alive and unharmed. She is getting help from friends. S._

After he wrote the message, the words melted off the page. He waited to see if there would be a reply, curious as to how the room would work. Then, black letters in Neville's handwriting appeared on the parchment.

 _I hope that this message is real and that you are reliable. Neville._

Snape, smiling at how Neville was thinking more and more like a Slytherin, wrote back:

 _If you had accepted my comment at face value I would have been tempted to cane you. But yes, the message is reliable. S._

 _Thank Merlin. Neville._

 _You will be harder to control now. S._

 _Any advice? Neville._

 _Don't get killed. Even a serious injury would make me quite put out. S._

 _You'd cane me if I got seriously hurt? Neville._

 _Absolutely. Remember what I've taught you._ Snape paused, considering. Though everything with his spy logic was telling him not to, he wrote: _The sword can kill the snake. This must be done before H can fight him._

 _Thank you for all you've done for me. Neville._

Snape paused then, wondering what to do. How do those Gryffindors just do something so soppy as to thank someone like that? He didn't know how to respond. Then, he thought of the perfect thing, but he almost couldn't bear to write it. He wrote it, and as it disappeared he visibly flinched and almost called it back.

The parchment then disappeared, and Snape nodded he had said what he needed to say, there was really nothing left.

Neville, tightly packed up in the room of requirement, read these words:

 _You should be very proud of the work that you have done. I know that I am. S._


	11. Chapter 11 - The Passageway

The Room of Requirement kept the walls thick and sealed. Neville knew there were a few that didn't make it into the room, but for the most part the fear that the Carrows had inspired had made most of the vulnerable students hide most of the time, so there was a very large percentage of those students in the Room when it sealed. Neville just hoped the other ones found a bolt hole as well.

It only took a few hours for the biggest problem to become apparent in the Room, and that was that they were out of food. They had a few loaves of bread and some fruit that they divided up scrupulously, but they knew that after that they had nothing.

Though Neville knew that they would survive being hungry for a while, he knew that people being bored and hungry was an explosive combination.

"Snape said to try asking the room to get us somewhere else, like with a tunnel," Neville told Seamus.

"Will that work?" Seamus asked, dubiously.

"Worth a try," Neville shrugged. "What else are we going to do?"

Seamus shrugged back, and said, "Go to it then. Nobody else gets this room like you do."

"Okay," Neville nodded. "Let's try. Room, we really need to be able to get somewhere safe where we can get food. Hogwarts is no longer safe, so it has to be somewhere else; probably in Hogsmeade. Can you tunnel us to somewhere in Hogsmeade that would be friendly to us and be able to supply us?"

"Mate," Seamus shook his head. "We're on the seventh floor. How exactly are we going to tunnel?"

Neville, shaking his head with chagrin, tried again. "We need a passage to Hogsmeade, somewhere safe that we can get food."

The room seemed to shiver, and then against one wall they heard the unmistakable sound of hammering or digging.

"Deranged Dwarves?" Seamus asked, his voice trepidatious.

"I think more likely magic," Neville replied with a grin.

"Do you think it will really go all the way to Hogsmeade?" one of the first years asked, looking at the wall in fascination.

"I think it might," Neville smiled. "It's the closest place other than Hogwarts."

"Where in Hogsmeade?" another girl asked. "Honeydukes?"

"I think we're going to have to wait and see," Neville told her. "But hopefully it will be help."

It took nearly an hour before the tunnel was complete. The digging sounds tapered off, and then a large, empty portrait appeared on the wall. They waited, expecting something more to happen.

"Um, hello?" Neville asked, wondering about the portrait.

"I'm coming," they heard the voice of a young girl. "Be patient."

Seamus and Neville looked at each other, and then at the portrait. They saw a girl in an old-fashioned dress very small in the portrait, and then she came closer and closer. Neville looked at the girl, who appeared wan and delicate, though determined.

"Who are you?" the girl asked.

"I am Neville Longbottom," Neville told her, unsure. "And this is Seamus Finnigan. And Michael Corner, Padma and Parvati Patil, Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, Ernie Macmillan and I don't know, a lot of others. We're Dumbledore's Army, though some of us are just here to be safe."

"I am Ariana Dumbledore," she told them, and then smirked a little bit at their looks of shock. Then, looking sternly between the two boys, she asked, "What do you want?"

"Are you related to the Headmaster?" Seamus asked, dumbfounded.

"I was his sister," she answered without emotion. "Now do you need something or not?"

"We need food," Neville told her, shaking himself. "We cannot go into Hogwarts anymore, it's not safe. We are holed up in the Room of Requirement, waiting for when we'll be needed."

"Come through, then," she told them. "You need to talk to my brother."

Neville and Seamus looked at each other, and Neville grimaced. Taking a breath, Seamus said in as polite of a voice as he could muster, "Miss, um, sorry to be the one to break it to you, but he's dead, Albus Dumbledore died last year."

"I have another brother," she told him, looking back over her shoulder as she walked away. "Aberforth."

"Seamus, come with me," Neville nodded. "Michael, you're in charge while we're gone."

"Okay," Michael responded, barely not saying "yes sir" to Neville's order. Neville nodded, and the portrait swung open to reveal a long, dark passageway to which they could see no end.

"What if it's a trap?" Seamus asked, eyeing the passageway, unsure. "I mean, all we know is this portrait of a girl shows up spouting the name of Dumbledore . . ."

"We'll find out," Neville shrugged. "I don't think the room would do anything to hurt us. Let's go."

Neville hopped up into the passageway, dusting off his hands and standing up. "Looks safe enough."

Seamus, rolling his eyes, hopped up behind them as they made their way down the passageway. "How are we in a passageway like this?" Seamus asked, looking around. "That nobody else can see?"

"Magic," Neville shrugged. "Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth."

Though the passage was magic it apparently was still the same length as a walk to Hogsmeade, and the boys had to walk a long way downhill before suddenly they came upon the back of a portrait. Neville carefully opened the portrait, looking around the warmly-lit room.

"You may as well come in," he heard a large man boom. "We've been waiting for you."

"You have?" Neville asked, confused.

"I have," the man said with no further explanation. "My name is Aberforth Dumbledore, owner and barman of the Hogs Head Tavern. And you are Neville Longbottom?"

"I am," he said, surprised. "And this is Seamus Finnigan. We're from Hogwarts."

"Obviously," the man answered, rolling his eyes. "You're now in the only way in and out of Hogwarts from what I can tell. They've been adding death eaters and dementors all day."

"Should we flee?" Seamus asked, brushing himself off. "Should we get the kids out?"

"That room is the safest place for 'em," Aberforth answered. "Out here they'd be taken by Snatchers or something. No, leave them there for now."

"We need food," Neville told the man boldly. "The Room cannot conjure it."

"Of course it can't," Aberforth shook his head. "What do they teach you at that school?"

"So could you help us?" Seamus asked. "The Room seemed to think that you could."

"I'll help you," Aberforth nodded. "It will be plain food though, nothing fancy. It's hard enough getting food in here these days, let alone treacle tarts or french bread."

"Whatever you have is fine," Neville assured him. "We're not picky."

"I have a kettle of stew you can take," Aberforth told them. "How many people have you got in there?"

"Sixty or so?" Neville told him, trying to add it up in his head.

"This will be a meager supper," Aberforth told them. "But I'll make a big pot of oatmeal for breakfast. Just send a few through to pick up your meals and then bring me back the cauldron it's cooked in."

"Thank you, sir," Neville nodded.

"It can't last for much longer," Aberforth told them. "I know more than you lads do, so trust me. It's not going to last much longer. You call yourself Dumbledore's Army?"

"It started as kind of a joke in our fifth year," Neville explained.

"Now is not the time for joking," Aberforth told them. "Now is the time for preparation. Whatever practice you are doing, double it. Triple it. The survival of those kids in that room depends on how well you train them in the next few weeks, because I don't think it will be much longer than that."

Neville nodded, understanding. "Thank you, sir. We shall."

At Snape's urging he had been training the older ones, and they had been doing some practice. But Aberforth was right, now was the time for buckling down, and he felt the weight of that responsibility."

Seamus and Neville lugged the cauldron filled with hot stew back to the Room of Requirement, smelling the savory broth the entire way and having their mouths water. When they returned, they found a stack of bowls and spoons waiting for them. Dishing out the stew carefully at first, Neville saw that it easily filled the bowls once and even left enough for most people to have a second bowl.

"This stew is good," Seamus told Neville, scraping his bowl. "It's warm and perfect."

"Well, it's not a feast at Hogwarts," Neville agreed. "But it's good. Fills the stomach."

"We're going to buckle down on the training then? For the older kids?"

"No," Neville replied, taking the last spoon of his stew. "For all of them. We're not just hiding from Umbridge now, we're a real army."

. . .

Two weeks later, Ariana called for Neville. He had just finished a grueling session with some first years, but they could now do some decent shields.

"Come, Neville," he heard the girl's soft voice. "It's time."

"Time for what?" Neville asked, though he was already pulling on his cloak.

"Time to see Harry. He's here."

Neville, bounding up, looked back at the others. "Stay here," he told them. "Get ready. Harry is going to need our help. This is what we've trained for, so listen to me now. I'm going to go, and bring him back with me."

"Do you want me to come?" Seamus asked.

"No, you're needed here," he told his friend. "Get them ready."

Neville almost ran down the passage this time, eager to see his friend and the one that would finally win the war. He also looked himself over - he actually was kind of a mess. Living in the Room had made some things much more difficult, and he still had healing marks from curses on his cheek given to him by the Carrows. The two weeks had healed other bruises and marks, including those from the cane, but curse marks always took longer. Shrugging off his rough appearance, he opened the portrait into the Hogs Head Tavern.


	12. Chapter 12 - Afterlife

_AN: Thank you everyone for your support. The encouragement I have gotten from reviews and comments have been so valuable. Please let me know how you liked this story and especially this ending. I realize that I've veering slightly off of canon here, but with some plausible deniability if you would like to stick strictly to canon in your head you may. Enjoy._

Snape was dead. Or, at least he would be soon. His work was at an end, and now it was time for the peace of the afterlife to engulf him. Or at least he hoped there would be peace, he hoped that he would finally feel as if he'd done enough to find that peace. His feet and hands were numb already, and he could feel some of the numbness spreading to his cheek and lips, Yes, it wouldn't be long now.

His work, yes, that was at an end. He had managed to protect as many Hogwarts students as he was able, and undermined Voldemort's power at every turn. He even managed to pass on the information he had been hoping to share with Harry before he died, and now he could be at peace about that. He had faked his death at that point, because he knew there was no other way for the boy to leave him alone and do what he had to do. Brave Gryffindors wouldn't leave anybody dying, even if it meant losing the war. Snape had already sacrificed far too much to let that happen, and faking it was not difficult; he was near death anyway. He had seen that boy's eyes, so much like his mother's and then slipped away for a few moments. He hoped that Neville would be able to do what he needed to do as well.

 _Ah, Neville._ The thought of the boy stirred something deep inside of Snape that he hadn't felt before. Was it paternal feelings? He wasn't sure, but he could hardly escape the feelings of warmth and pride whenever he thought of the youth. He hoped the lad wouldn't think too unkindly upon him, after his death. _Yes,_ he admitted to himself. _In death I should be honest at least. I felt like a father to that boy._

Snape had been disarmed, his wand taken. He could try a potion that he had tucked in his robes, but even if he was at full health with his entire potion collection at his disposal, he knew it would be a crapshoot at best. Soon he would either die from exsanguination or from the effects of the venom, but death would come soon enough. He had done his part, the rest was up to others.

Snape had no idea how long he lingered in such a state, floating between life and death. He had thought it would be an easy thing to let go of his life and pass over into the peace, but apparently his body was fighting back, even without his wand. His magic was trying to repair, to staunch the blood, to rid the poison. But he knew it was hopeless. Eventually his magic would fail and his body would then cease to function. Death was not unwelcome, it would at least save himself very uncomfortable questions about his war activities. That is, if the good side won.

"Professor Snape!" he heard Neville's voice.

Was that really him or was hallucinations part of the venom? Blood loss could also possibly cause hallucinations, couldn't it?

"Professor! Are you alive?" he heard Neville's voice pierce the fog.

"Neville . . ." he said, and then stopped himself. Even a hallucination should have the dignity of being called Mr. Longbottom.

"Poppy can't help you," Neville told him. "There's no time, and she's with others. Hold still, sir."

This hallucination was bossy.

"Luna! Over here!" his hallucination called.

"You found him!" Luna's hallucination responded.

Well, at least these were students he liked. It would be awful if he hallucinated Ron Weasley.

"He's dying," he heard Luna announce. "It was a snake, look at the marks on his neck."

"Well, I got that snake at least," Neville announced, a note of pride in his voice. "With the Sword of Gryffindor, just as you said I should. So Harry could take the bad guy out."

Snape smiled in spite of himself. It was nice to have his hallucinations show his fondest dreams, it was tidy that way. He could die happy.

"Here, get these down his throat," Neville directed Luna. "It's a broad antidote, a blood replenisher, and a wound healing potion. Do them in that order, I'll work on the spell."

Snape glowed with pride, the boy was carrying potions with him. And look, the potions even tasted how they should. This was certainly a vivid hallucination; he didn't remember ever being able taste something in a dream before.

Then, Snape heard the sing-song spell being cast over him. _Vulnera Sanentur,_ he recognized it. It was his own spell, and the spell he had taught Neville. Now it was being used on him. _It could work,_ he recognized in a detached way. _If the caster were strong enough and passionate enough. Was Neville strong enough?_

The first time the charm was sung, he felt the blood trickle slow. The venom had interfered with blood clotting, and the healing spell was countering that. The replenishing potion was starting to work by this time as well, and he could feel some of his strength return.

 _The second pass cleans the wound,_ Snape remembered. He could feel the venom being sucked out of his wounds, and he could feel his magic being able to attack the venom left in his blood. Maybe some of that antivenom that Neville had given him was working too. Did that potion use a bezoar? His mind drifted to that first class with Harry . . .

The third pass knits the wounds, Snape told himself as he heard Neville incant it. He could feel the skin on his neck begin to close and to heal. The healing potion augmented it, and he began to feel as if his body might recover.

Then, he realized that he could still slip away. If he were going to go, this was the time to do it. No worries, no fuss. The hallucinations wouldn't care.

"Don't go!" he heard Neville desperately plead with him. "Don't go! We need you here, professor. Please stay."

"It needs to be his choice," Luna told him softly.

"I don't accept that!" Neville growled at her. "Don't you dare leave me, Professor! You are needed! Now come back! You have no idea how much I endangered my life during the battle, and if you did I wouldn't be sitting for a week! A month! Now come back!"

The command had been given so forcefully that Snape reacted and took a deep intake of breath. His lungs hurt from the breath, and he snapped, "Give me a pain potion. Really, you should have thought of that before."

Snape heard his hallucination laugh incredulously at his snarky reply. Really, was this what the afterlife was like? Snape, not having the energy to even open his eyes, felt the pain potion pressed to his lips and he drank. His muscles loosened and he felt the pain recede, and he took a deep breath. He had a feeling he was going to like the afterlife.

The End.


	13. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

 _AN: I was torn on whether or not to do an epilogue, and it was not a part of my original plan. But, I was inspired by great reviews and really do understand the need for closure and in a lot of ways this epilogue was fun to write. So, if you like ambiguous, artsy endings and would like this story to remain canon-compliant for you, then don't read this epilogue. :) I don't really see a sequel to this story, but let me assure you I'm already working on the next project. Writing has been a lifelong addiction of mine. :) Also, Teddy Lupin was sorted into Hufflepuff in canon, but I really wanted him to be in Gryffindor for this story._

* * *

 _ **Ten Years Later**_

"Longbottom!" he heard a sharp voice crack into the room. "I would speak with you at once!"

"Yes, Professor Snape," Neville replied, a small smile playing on his lips as he answered. He knew what the irate Potions Master was angry about. "And remember, you can call me Neville now."

"We are at work and I prefer your surname _, Professor_ ," Snape snarled at him.

"May I call you Severus, then?" Neville smirked.

"You most certainly may not!" the Professor snapped. "And we are getting off point!"

"What was the point, then?" Neville asked, rubbing his hands together to rid them of excess dirt. "Is there a plant I can get for you?"

"You know very well I am coming to speak to you about that Lupin boy," Snape growled.

"I'm enjoying having Teddy in class, aren't you?"

"He's a menace," Snape countered. "I expect you to keep your house under control, Professor Longbottom."

"I think that the inter-house cooperation between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins has never been better," Neville told him lightly. "So we have a few mischief-makers, surely that is not the end of the world."

"You know he's the Weasley twins reincarnated!" Snape thundered. "Green, Longbottom! Half of my first years have green hair! Just because that student can change his appearance at will does not give him the right to change others!"

"It certainly seems festive for the time of year," Neville answered calmly. "But I do not see how that makes him a menace."

"They are running roughshod over you, Professor," Snape snapped.

"Would you like me to cane him?" Neville asked, eyebrow raised.

Snape looked away a bit, the bluster fading. He resisted the urge to laugh at the idea of Neville choosing such a harsh punishment. "Perhaps it would do him some good," he snapped, trying to regain his righteous indignation.

"Look, I have dealt with the miscreant," Neville told him. "He is serving detention with Filch tonight, and he will submit a written apology to the head of Slytherin house tomorrow to be posted in their common room should the head agree."

"I agree," Snape replied, somewhat mollified. "It shall be posted promptly after my receipt of the apology."

"Good," Neville agreed. "You just have to promise me that you won't scare the child half to death when he delivers his apology to you."

"I will promise no such thing," Snape sniffed. "He deserves a glower or two."

"Nobody believes it anymore, you know," Neville told him, picking up his pruning shears. "I mean, it took a few years, but everyone know knows how you were a spy, how you helped me that horrible year, and how you sacrificed everything to save the wizarding world. Your glowering just doesn't have the same effect when you're a hero."

"I shall have to improve then," Snape scowled. "Or I'll be mistaken for a bloody Hufflepuff."

Neville snorted, "I don't think anybody would ever think that."

"I should have continued letting everyone think I was dead and moved to Brazil," he replied. "Bloody students."

"Why did you decide to live?" Neville asked him. "I would have lied about your death if you'd asked me to do it."

"I know you would have," Snape told him. "But someone had to come and keep an eye on you that isn't as soft as the current headmistress. Which reminds me, we need to do your performance review before break."

"Sounds good," Neville agreed. "There are some perks to being deputy headmaster."

"Very few, Professor Longbottom," Snape inferred.

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about the cane anymore," Neville smiled at him.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Snape glowered. "I have some reports of some pretty lax standards in Gryffindor."

Neville laughed, recognizing the joke even though Snape never cracked a smile. They both knew how much Snape regretted the necessary cover he kept during the war; several times while in their cups they had reminisced and Snape had expressed that regret wholeheartedly. Neville had of course voiced forgiveness, but that was always hard for Snape to accept. Even with Neville thanking him for helping them win the war, Snape still wouldn't hear of anything other than the children he had been unable to protect.

After the war, Neville had tried to be an auror for a while along with Harry and Ron, but that had clearly not been his niche. When Hogwarts started up again that fall the new Headmistress asked for him to come and teach herbology, and Neville had hesitated. It wasn't until Professor Snape sent a letter to him encouraging him to take the post that Neville agreed. He became head of Gryffindor a short time later, and slipped into an easy friendship with the head of Slytherin.

Neville saw Snape's expression change to remorse, and he tried to preempt it. "Don't feel guilty," he said softly. "You did what you had to do."

"Did I?" Snape asked, his tone full of contempt. "It seems that I was in charge and therefore could have done what I wanted to do."

"You protected me," Neville told him, his tone firm. "The cane was far better than the cruciatus, and you even made sure I had a salve for it."

"It killed me, you know," Snape said, not making eye contact. "You were so noble, so brave. It killed me to punish you."

"Surely I deserved it a few of the times," Neville smiled, trying to gently bring the man out of his self-recriminations. "I believe that I was also fairly foolhardy."

"That you were," Snape answered, his lips twitching. He knew what Neville was trying to do, and it actually lightened his heart. He was turning into a bloody Hufflepuff.

"And the training you gave me saved lives," Neville told him firmly. "Probably my own as well. I owe you a lot, Professor."

Snape gave a non-descript garumph, but was secretly pleased. His friendship with the young professor had helped him more than either of them realized.

"You're coming to Christmas, aren't you?" Neville asked with a smile. "Hannah promised to make you the pudding you like again."

"Of course I am," Snape nodded formally. "I will be delighted."

"Gran will be there of course," Neville told him. "I promise to not let her ask about your love life anymore."

"Good luck with that," Snape blinked darkly.

"Harry's going to stop by with his kids for a little while," Neville told him. "It helps, you know, with the wanting ones of our own."

Snape nodded in sympathy, he felt for the young man that hadn't been able to have children of their own. "Your Godson should be old enough for some fun."

"Albus is getting good on his broom," Neville confirmed. "But with those parents, of course he would be!"

"I can't believe Harry named him Albus Severus," Snape told him with chagrin. "I mean really, it's just embarrassing . . ."

"He respects what you've done," Neville told him firmly. "Don't disparage that."

"He certainly never respected me in school," Snape grumbled, but Neville smiled at his curmudgeon friend. He knew how pleased Snape really was.

"So if you've suitably chastised me for my lax oversight of the Gryffindors, would you fancy a pint at the Leaky Cauldron?" Neville asked with a smile. "I think Hannah's made lamb stew for tonight."

"I suppose it would do me good to leave the castle," Snape acknowledged. "Thank you, Neville."

"You're welcome, Severus."


End file.
